


London Bridge

by CharlieMcarthy



Series: The (K)night Guard [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: and Mike Schmidt is a bamf whos seen some you know what, in which charlie headcanons the bologna out of marionette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4651194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieMcarthy/pseuds/CharlieMcarthy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Fazbear's Fright opens while Mike is holding a steady, if tiresome, job as a night guard? Mike sets out to recover the animatronic rumored to be kept in a horror attraction, with a little help from his friends. London Bridge may have fallen down, but now it's under new management, and Mike Schmidt is nothing if not persistent. He has to be, because not just anyone can be the suit to the spectral mass that was once Golden Freddy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Rest for the Weary

_“London Bridge is broken down,_  
_Broken down, broken down._  
 _London Bridge is broken down,_  
 _My fair lady...”_

**1\. No Rest for the Weary**

Mike Schmidt was enjoying a day off.

It was well earned, well-needed and much appreciated, if his sore muscles and weary bones had anything to say about it.

 _‘Shouldn’t’a let them talk me into teaching them soccer. Shoulder’s bruised and that’s what I get for playing with stuff three times my size.’_ He mused to himself, pushing his spine a little further into the tired second-hand sofa from his parents. He kept his feet propped up on the scuffed coffee table, and abandoned half of his PS1 controller in favor of grabbing some popcorn. Boney hands shoved a fistful of popcorn into his mouth, and he smashed the Start button to unpause his game. It was stale, and his soda had gone flat hours ago, but he didn’t mind.

It was his day off.

He had spent the better part of the day whiling away the hours. First he’d wandered to the nearby gas station, got himself a slushie—work only ever had coffee, and that tasted like piss no matter how bad he needed it—and then he just walked for a bit. Been a while since he’d stretched his legs, and his job certainly didn’t provide room to stretch. At only one or so he’d found his way home, fought with the shitty lock for only five minutes—new record, score!—and then sat his lazy ass down until the ripe twilight of the evening. It was six, maybe six thirty and he had no inclination to move any time soon. Not until Spyro had saved the Dragon World and collected all the gems, anyway. Besides, one of the perks to Mike’s graveyard shift job was he could stay awake for hours now. He let himself get lost in the wonder that was crappy modeling with saturated colors, and simply enjoyed the video game.

And then the phone rang suddenly, causing him to twist to stare at the landline—which was hardly ever used, what a money sucker that was—and he made a mental note to give the guys at work his cell so they could use that instead, and another mental reminder to cancel the landline. It was no good to him. In his moment of hesitation, Spyro’s wings gave out, and he flew headfirst off a cliff, and spiraled down to his death.

Mike groaned loudly in protest, letting his head flop back as he tossed the controller onto the cushion next to him, and got up.

He tugged the phone off its receiver, smashed Talk with more force than necessary, and lifted his hand.

“ _What_?”

“Watch that tone of yours, now.” Scolded a deep, if friendly, voice. “Answer the phone a little politely, son!”

“Alright, alright—I’m sorry. What’s up?”

The voice was thick with pride. “We found ‘im.”

“You found—“ For a second, Mike was drawing a blank. But the speaker on the other end of the line waited in patient silence. No surprise there, Mike knew he was a big fan of watching and waiting. It was one of the things Mike liked about him. That, and he was pretty reliable in almost any situation.

Give or take a few issues here and there.

“Oh, oh!” Realization hit the young man, even as he turned to save his game, fumbling for the controller as he did so. “Wait, like, _already_? Wow. That didn’t take long. How far is it from work?”

“No clue. Just got the address. We found a letter from the people who contacted here a few weeks ago. It was in the Manager’s desk. _I_ think they hid there on purpose, but Bo—”

“Hold on—they sent a letter to management?” Mike frowned a little. They were serious then—serious enough to send a fucking letter by snail mail, and the fact they had gone over his head was a little…odd. “Is there a date on the letter?”

“Uh…lee’see here…” Mike heard the distant sound of paper being unfolded. “September the thirteenth, says here. “

“The thirteeneth…” The kid dug through his memory, eyes unfocusing.

“That important? Something on yer mind?”

“It’s just. That was…was after they called, wasn’t it?” Wondered Mike aloud as he straightened up, wondering where the hell his keys had gotten to _this_ time.

“Sure as sugar. Youda think they’d have taken your no the _first_ time they asked.” Oh, for the love. They were in his pocket. Again.

Mike chuckled a little at the previous statement, though. “Humans are a persistent bunch, aren’t we big guy?” He joked into the receiver as he tipped the rest of the popcorn into the trash and wandered into the little galley kitchen.

“Mhm. One word for it, kid.” Came the dry remark that only made his lopsided grin widen.

“Either way… I’ll trace the address, find out where I need to go and then head out tomorrow, Tuesday at the latest. I’m coming over now so I can do it there. I’m still not crazy about you guys using the phone…but, anyway. How’s that sound?” It’d be sort of like a vacation for them too, come to think of it.

“Uh…great!” Mike heard the pause, and calmly and mentally counted to three. On three, the voice went “But…”

“Here it comes.” During this time, he had pulled his jacket on, shoved on his sneakers that had only one hole, and was standing by the door waiting.

“We were just a thinkin’ kid, given the _circumstances’n_ all…”

“You wanna come with me, right?” And the guilty silence over the other end of the line said it all. What said even more was the fact the speaker didn’t rush to defend their point. He didn’t have to. Mike knew what he wanted.

Sighing heavily, the young man opened his fridge, eyed last week’s pizza, bologna and some bread before closing the hopelessly empty fridge. He didn’t bother looking into the cabinets, just grabbed a few cookies from a plate that his mom had delivered and stashed two into his pocket. The last he kept out to eat.

“Look.” He said around a mouthful of peanut butter, his favorite. “I’ll think about it. But if this place is too far away…c’mon, man. You _know_ you can’t be outta the restaurant for longer than, say, three days.”

Okay, truthfully it was four. That old place was finally getting new tile put down, so the place was closed until Saturday. If they left Monday and got back by Friday, no one would be any the wiser, and corporate would be happy at a job well done.

You know, if everything went according to plan, exactly as Mike was dreaming it would.

“…fair enough. Think about it though, right?” Mike didn’t blame him for that. The Night Guard had a penchant for forgetfulness—especially when it involved paintball guns and learning how to use them. He did not need to see his coworkers splattered with anything resembling blood ever-fucking-again, thank you _very_ much.

“Deal.” He said, knowing that was the word they kept in storage for when Mike was making a serious promise.

Apparently satisfied with Mike’s word—and why shouldn’t he be? Mike had never let them down before—they finished the conversation quickly, with Mike promising he was on his way in.

So much for his day off.

 _‘Can’t really blame em. Haven’t seen their friend in, what did he say? Twenty years or something? No, it couldn’t be that long—either way. They’ve been on edge ever since we found out where the thing was kept. A haunted house…jesus. They even had to nerve to ask if we would…ugh.’_ Mike shook his head in disgust.

_What people won’t do for a quick buck._

Mike headed out the door of his shitty apartment, hitting the light plate on the way out.

As he did, the lights, the game system and the tv flickered off. One of his better modifications to his place.

He always had been good with electronics.

 _“Build it up with wood and clay,_  
_Wood and clay, wood and clay,_  
 _Build it up with wood and clay,_  
 _My fair lady…”_


	2. Watch the Hours on the Clock

_“Wood and clay will wash away,_  
_Wash away, wash away,_  
 _Wood and clay will wash away,_  
 _My fair lady…”_

**2\. Watch the Hours on the Clock**

Fazbear’s Fright in general seemed miserable and bleak. In all consideration, Mike supposed this was what they were aiming for. It was a horror attraction, after all. And it was no surprise it had cropped up during the early Fall. He had a sneaking suspicion they were gearing up for the following month—October.

Sitting in the massive delivery van, the young man sighed and let his head fall back against the head rest. He stared at the doors to the entrance, taking note of the gray, chilly weather and was glad he’d grabbed his jacket to put over his uniform. He figured the more he _looked_ the part, the easier it would be to get the missing animatronic back. Spring…Sprungsomething, whatever it was called. Point was, it was a bunny—a Bonnie model, and it had shown up mysteriously at the horror attraction only two weeks ago. A week before that, Fazbear Fright had contacted the pizzeria and had the audacity to ask about spare props or some other nonsense.

Mike still wasn’t happy about that call, or the letter that had proceeded it.

The van rocked uneasily on its wheels, and Mike shot a mild glare into the rearview mirror that he knew didn’t go unnoticed. The van stopped moving. Turning his attention back to the one floor, gray building of Fazbear’s Fright, the night guard chewed his lip and considered, not for the first time, if this was really such a good idea.

_The gang’s really worried, though…okay._

“Rule number five, Mikey.” He reminded himself with a little gust of air as he killed the engine and pushed the door open.

He twisted around in the driver’s seat, giving a look at the hunched bodies crammed into the backseat of the giant van. Cooperate had done something right for once, this gutted out trailer bus was perfect for moving the bots to those birthday parties for the disabled kids. Mike had even ventured them to a kid’s hospital once—it had gone so well and the pay had been so good, that was the reason the pizzeria was getting new flooring.

The van was only a month at most old; it still had its blank white side, which Mike was grateful for. The less suspicion they rose, the better. He would rather people think there were Jehovah witnesses in here instead of the kid’s entertainers that were staring back quietly. They could tell Mike was tired, he’d driven straight through the Sunday night and now it was mid Monday.

“You five stay in here—“ He held up a hand before jaws could open and protest. “No, don’t give me that look. I’ll come and get you if I need, okay?” he promised, and this seemed to satisfy the trons for a moment. For now.

He did a mental check, wishing he could have convinced at least one of them to stay at home, but no dice. Patting the present box that sat in the passenger seat for good luck, Mike gave his coworkers a final stare—Stay. Put.—before he clambered out and stretched his drive-fatigued body.

Walking up to the building alone made him a bit nervous, but he knew if he showed the slightest bit of hesitation nothing he said would keep the bots from his heels. He didn’t need to walk in here with the 6 foot bodyguards and ruin any chance at diplomacy.

_‘Here we go again Schmidt…’_

The plan was to get in, get the animatronic back, and get the hell out. His biggest worry would hopefully be if the van would fit another body, though he had a feeling if push came to shove he could just throw the present box on someone’s lap and open up a free seat.

The midday sun hadn’t broken through the gray clouds yet, and a brisk autumn wind pushed lazily against the side of the building. From afar, Mike thought it was gloomy.

Up close, it was downright dismal.

When knocking on the door yielded no results, he tested the knob—found it opened—and headed inside after only a fraction of hesitation. After almost five months working at Freddy Fazbear’s pizzeria, (and with six weeks of that employment being heart-poundingly life threatening) Mike knew the importance of split-second choices.

Sometimes they were the path to life or death.

The horror attraction was grimier than Freddy’s when Mike first worked there. His job had turned into night guard, cleaner, dish washer and all around night-time handyman within three weeks of working there. He couldn’t stand a mess.

But this…

This wasn’t a mess.

It was organized chaos.

He almost walked head first into a Foxy head jutting from the wall, and the only reason he didn’t was because he walked so hunched over. Glaring at it reproachfully—while hoping the working model wouldn’t ever have to see it—Mike turned a corner and found himself down a long hall with even more paraphernalia. A light flickered weakly, in its death throes of illumination.

Following some noises down the hall, Mike turned the corners and traced the noise to a back room. It looked moderately like backstage, except the front room—the…stage—was missing. Weird.

“Uh…hello?” He tried, leaning around the corner.

The guy standing there jerked upright, twisting around. “Whoa, man!” total surfer dude. Mike blinked. “Scared the _shit_ outta me! Hey, who are you, how’d you get in here?”

“The…door was unlocked?” Mike said slowly.

“Did Scott send you?”

“Sco—Erh, no.” He entered the room fully—uniform tucked haphazardly into his blue pants. His cap was in the van, but he didn’t need it.

“Hey, isn’t that a—?” Shit, man. Not for the first time, Mike mused these guys had done their homework.

“Name’s Mike Schmidt, and I’m a security guard…and sort of the day manager…of Freddy Fazbear’s pizzeria.”

For a moment, the guy stared at him in shock. Then his eyes widened, mouth dropping open.

“I’m Jake, man. Whoa, no way! Oh dude, you’re like _here_ —“

“Yeah, well. We just…”

“Wait! You’re not here to sue, right?” The guy asked quickly.

“What? No!” Well, _now_ the idea was crossing his mind. Mike shook his head and held his hands up in his best placating manner. Since he didn’t seem to be in trouble, Jake turned his back dismissively on Mike, and he inwardly groaned. ‘ _Man, this guy wouldn’t last two minutes in—don’t think about that.’_

“Hey I’m sorry man, I’ve love to stay and chat. But the attraction opens in like, a week. We are in a _crunch_ to get everything ready, y’know? It’s way stressful, making sure this place is an authentic scary experience.”

“Right. Stressful.” Mike deadpanned, recalling the night-time hours stuck in a room with a building with limited power and, of course, murderous animatronics.

“Look, buddy, I’m…I’m actually _here_ for the animatronic you found.” He spoke quietly, feeling a little bad. The guy seemed pretty excited.

“Wait, what? Dude—“

“It’s complicated and I’m sorry that I’m…threatening your authentic…nightmare horror thing here, but, you gotta know those things belong to the company, right? I mean…” He shrugged a little, giving his best sympathetic-I-wouldn’t-if-I-didn’t-have-to face.

Jake bit his lip, eyebrows furrowed.

“Can’t we just keep it?” He pleaded. “For one night? I mean the things in _shitty_ condition, dude. Smells like a fucking dead dog.”

“I’m sorry it’s not… _up_ to me. You know, corporate. Guys can be real tight-asses.” _‘I am lying out my ass.’_ Mike’s thoughts were deadpan. _‘Thanks for the training, Phone Guy.’_

“Yeah…well, alright. Fine.” The guy turned and headed for the door, passing Mike. “I’ll show you where it is.” He carried a dejected and moderately annoyed tone, but Mike wasn’t fazed.

As they left Mike turned off the light to the little make shift stage room. He noticed Jake paused, giving him a look.

“Rule number one.” Mike supplied with a little grin as he followed the guy. “Gotta conserve power.”

On the way to the back room, which was near the exit apparently, Mike got a good look around the horror attraction a second time. He winced at both the yellowed drawings they passed, and the stacks of presents in the corner.

_‘Forget Foxy. If Mari sees this, he’s gonna use Jake’s brains for slushies. I really hope I don’t have to bring the gang in here…’_

“Doesn’t this occur to you that this… _might_ be in poor taste? I mean. People died. Little kids.”

“No—no I get it man, trust me. It was horrible. It was fucked up, yeah, and that’s why we made The Fright.” Jake explained. Mike wasn’t sure it was much of an explanation, actually.

“Right.” Mike stopped when Jake did. “Well? Where is it?”

“Uh…right here!’ Jack gestured to an empty stand. Mike turned to stare at him. He was eerily good at it—Jack thought the guy didn’t blink enough.

“O-or, it’s supposed to be. Shit, what the _fuck_.”

Mike looked around. No where a giant animatronic could hide, shadows or not. Something would be sticking out.

But the final room was void of any complete robots, shitty condition or whatever. Mike stared warily at the intact Exit door, but found nothing amiss. Knob wasn’t broken. No scratches or scuffs.

No holes from a giant metal fist. So…no sign of an escape from the _building_.

“You’re sure it’s in _this_ room? There’s five others I went through—“

“Dude, no! I aint lying—it was here! Where the hell did it go?”

“Is there a chance Scott or, someone? Moved the animatronic?” But a familiar feeling of dread was filling his stomach.

“ _No_ way, man. One person can’t move that thing on its own, it’s super heavy. I’ve been here since eleven and I’m the only one in tonight until Ron comes.”

“Ron…?”

“The night guard.” That got him a stare from Mike, and it was a bit colder than before. The guy found himself shrinking back a little, and he slapped on a sheepish grin.

“Hey! We wanted to make the joint authentic—Ron’s already worked here like two nights, he just sits there and practices his bit, y’know?” Jake straightened up, deciding he had no reason to be scared of this stick of a guy. “But, like, he’s not gonna be in til twelve. He’s usually late too.”

“Ah.” Mike moved on, thinking fast. “Was the door I came in the only one unlocked?”

“Uh, yeah. We don’t really use the other two.”

 _If_ it was moving on its own—then it wasn’t following the normal 12-6 night roaming mode. Which made this animatronic old; old enough to have escaped the free-roam ban.

_Fucking. Shit. I shoulda brought the guys in here. What if it thinks we’re endos?_

“What are these?” Mike asked, the old tapes sitting on the desk caught his eye. Their titles were smudged. But it had been years since he’d seen a cassette, so he assumed they had something to do the pizzeria and weren’t like, ambiance tapes or something else. His haunch was right, because Jake light up and walked over to hold one up.

“I think they’re like… _training_ tapes? Dude, I’ve heard these, and they are prehistoric. We found em with the bunny-man.”

_With…? Okay. That might even the odds. There could be something useful on here._

“Hey do you…mind if I take a look at them?”

“Sure, yeah, no. Just take all the stuff from here why don’t you—“

Mike ignored the other man pointedly. He was just gonna listen to them and then give them back. After that shitty comment though, Mike said nothing about it.

“We can go look through the security cameras—the room’s right here.”

“Alright.” Mike reluctantly placed the tape in his pocket. He’d listen to it after they were in the security room. At least that would provide cover and protection. It was the only reason he put the training tape on hold, and followed Jake to the room. Luckily it was by the door he had previously come in. Which gave him an idea.

 _‘Plan B. Plan B is fine, everything will be okay.’_ He thought to himself as he headed for the door and, instead of locking it, (Or running out _screaming_ like Mike wanted to do. Fuck his hero complex with a rake.) Without a word of warning, the skinny guy leaned on the knob and stood half out of the building, staring toward the only vehicle in the parking lot.

“What are you doing, dude?”

“Huh? Oh. Rule number two—Hang on, wouldja?” He leaned out the building more and cupped a hand over his mouth. The wind stirred his hair. It was getting colder.

“ _Guys_! STAFF MEETING!!” He projected best he could, knowing they would know what he meant. For good measure, he added a “Get in here and quick!” He didn’t like this door being open, where something could get in without him knowing.

Or out.

The van, which had been sitting uninterestingly in the parking lot, suddenly shook from inside. Mike felt more than saw Jake move up behind him—but the guy wasn’t a threat. He forced his shoulders to relax, trying to squash months of carefully cultivated instincts that had kept him alive. Those hairs on the back of his neck had the senses of bloodhounds.

Finally, the van’s door opened, and a tall figure in a black top hat ducked as it stomped down the stairs onto the cement. Mike felt a wave of relief wash over him, soothing the chilled ice in his veins.

“ _Fucking_ …” That was Jake’s single breathed out word. Jake, who was looking around the door frame as he watched the things come out of the massive vehicle.

The bear turned its head to stare quietly in Mike’s direction. Mike grinned at the choked noise from Jake’s mouth. ‘ _Take that, dude.’_ He mocked inwardly, and stepped back into Fazbear’s Fright. He recalled Jake’s query over his statement, and decided know was a good as time as any to answer him.

“Number two: Check your blindspots. Every camera has one. But!” Mike swept an appreciative, warm look over the gathered bots. Foxy slammed the door and pushed his jaw into place.

“With these guys, we won’t have any.”

Freddy say Mike’s rare smug smile, and grinned back with a clench of gears.

The gang moved toward the building.  
  
_“Build it up with bricks and mortar,_  
_Bricks and mortar, bricks and mortar,_  
 _Build it up with bricks and mortar,_  
 _My fair lady…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting the ball rolling. I really enjoy writing this, so far.


	3. Something Wicked This Way Comes

_“Bricks and mortar will not stay,_  
_Will not stay, will not stay,_  
_Bricks and mortar will not stay,_  
_My fair lady…”_  
  
**3\. Something Wicked This Way Comes**

_"Uh, hello!  Hello hello!  Uh, welcome to your new career as a performer slash entertainer for Freddy Fazbear's Pizza!  Uh, these tapes will provide you with much-needed information on how to handle slash climb into slash climb out of mascot costumes.”_

“Of course it’s fucking you.” Mike muttered from behind his hand as he stared at the tape player, appearing to be in deep concentration. Jake shot him a confused look, but noticed the purple bunny—Bonnie, right?—just…staring at him. He decided against interrupting.

_“—we have two specially-designed suits that double as both animatronics and suits. So please pay close attention on how to operate these suits so that no accidents slash injuries slash death slash irreparable and grotesque maiming can occur!”_

Mike leaned both palms on the desk, face set in grim concentration as he and the bots gathered round the player to hear the recording.

 _“First of all we'll discuss how to operate the mascots when they're in animatronic form.  For ease of operation, the animatronics are set to turn and walk towards sound. An easy and hands-free approach, and making sure the animatronics stay where the children are for maximum entertainment slash crowd pleasing value—ffzt.”_ Mike took his finger off the pause button, and looked at Freddy in askance and confusion.Freddy shot him a little look, then one at the other animatronics, before turning back to their night guard.

“Wasn’t always stuck on stage, son, remember.” Freddy’s deep voice came from the speaker in the back of his throat. “Spring was part robot, part costume. A lotta the time, if he wasn’t being used by a staff member, he was sittin’ the back room.”

“So people would wear the suit, act like a character and you were programmed to follow him?”

“Aye, summit like that.” Foxy drawled, eyeing the curve of his hook as he stared in the nervous Jake’s direction. Mike pitched a warning look, and the fox lowered his arm. “Them happy-painted versions of us were always finding trouble ta get into. Ole Trap coming out was a good sign they was having a mite trouble stayin’ one place, ya see.”

Mike frowned, nodding a little. He seemed lost in thought, but smacked the Play button nevertheless.

_“Fzzt. To change the animatronics to suit mode, insert and turn firmly the hand crank provided by the manufacturer. Turning the crank will re-coil and compress the animatronic parts around the sides of the suit, providing room to climb inside. Please make sure the spring locks are fastened tight to ensure the animatronic parts remain fixed, we will cover this in further detail in tomorrow's session.Remember to smi—“_

Mike hit the Stop button, his smile a touch bitter.

“So Springtrap was kept to use as a sort of…visual guide for your Toy versions, right? Which were younger anyway—but I thought they have better equipment?”

“ _Nothing’s_ better than the originals, Mikey.” That was Bonnie, his voice a high pitched whuff as he folded his arms and flicked on impressive ear. Mike smiled at the correction and gave a conceding nod.

“Got me there, Bon. You guys didn’t work with Springtrap?”

“Now I don’t know about tha’ un.” Freddy said, tilting his head to look upward and off in the distance. He was trying to access his memory bank. Years of poor maintenance had taken their toll on the animatronic’s mentally and physically. Freddy had the worst memory but was in the best condition, and Foxy was the opposite.

“I remember, he’s about the same color as I am.” Freddy stopped trying to think so hard, giving himself a little shake as gears grunted. Mike patted the bear’s shoulders sympathetically.

Foxy growled and tapped his hook against his jaw. “On makin’ me rounds I seem to recall him in the old days of—of the first ship.” Mike nodded, knowing when Foxy said ‘ship’ he meant restaurant.

“We-we got most of our stuff from the second.” Jake contributed quietly, flinching when Foxy’s ears twitched in his direction. Mike spared him a nod, too.

“Right, I figured. Fredbear’s Diner isn’t even on the map anymore, so.” And Mike himself (and the others, what remained of them) _worked_ in the third restaurant. The Toys had been dismantled and sold—seems most of their parts had been salvaged by Fazbear’s Fright.

He turned his concentrated stare toward the little rolly chair next to the desk. In the chair sat only a single thing, a rather large box with a big bow. For a split second Mike watched it and hoped to hear that tune, or the lid open. No such luck.

 _‘Looks like Mari’s not gonna give me any hints on this one.’_ Mike sighed.

“That makes Springtrap…like, as old as Freddy.” Mike’s eyebrows scrunched as he verbally worked it out. “So—so maybe Spring was a modified suit? Like, he was just an animatronic until they realized the Toys were having tracking issues. Bonnie, Chica and Foxy were kinda…out of order.” Mike glossed over that delicately. “They couldn’t use Freddy since he’s the face-front to the whole operation.” Mike’s eyes light up, and he clapped a fist into his palm. “Which means they _had_ to alter Springtrap to use him as a costume!”

“Dun’ know why they bothered, the lubbers.” Foxy grumbled sourly under his breath.

“Huh? What do you mean Foxy?”

“I mean Trap didn’t _need_ to be worn like an old sock, lad. He—we—all the bots can pick up our lad’s and lasses’ voices and go find ‘em. Don’t need no bilge rats to tell _us_ to where ta find a party.” He finished proudly, but Mike’s heart sank.

“You mean…Springtrap can pick up audio and know how to find it?”

“Aye. …what be the face for?”

“…because I just realized how much noise we’ve been making.”

* * *

 

Stuck in this blasted place. Fucking…when he got out of here.

_Just stop trying, please? Please, I’m tired._

And then there was this asshole.

“Sssshhut up.” Hissed a garbled, skipping voice through a voice box covered in rotted flesh. The voice, a man’s, was overlaid with a thin amount of static. It vaguely resembled a radio picking up a channel just a bit too far away.

Sick of this, so sick of this. How long had he been stuck in there? It had taken every ounce of will to not give in and put his hands round the throat of that stupid idiot he’d seen wandering around earlier. But, no. No, couldn’t do this too soon.

Had to take his time.

Had to be prepared.

He had lost any window of opportunity to make a quick kill and be done with it. Too slow. Damn it all.

Especially since… _they_ …were here.

“And that box.” Seethed the rabbit—or, one side of it anyway. “That stupid, fucking, awful box is with them, with that _little night guard.”_ He sang-song the last three words. “Get that box from him. Must do it. No choice.” His words were raspy, short and sounding as it was very hard for him to talk at all.

Considering the state of their combined mechanics and organs, it probably was.

 _I won’t stop fighting you._ But that voice sounded weak and tired. _They won’t stop._

The voice—it thinks at some points it maybe have been called ‘Springtrap: Beloved Entertainer to Children and Best Friend to Fredbear,’ takes some solace in the fact that one: the others are here. And two: one of them has The Box. Even better, it’s a human who they saw carrying it, tucked under his arm.

 _Puppet choose a new human._ Remarked the voice tiredly. _You won’t win this time._

 _“_ St-stupid rabbit.” The large animatronic hissed as he puttered about, getting things ready. “Don’t wa-wa-wa—“ He grabbed his own throat and pushed, clicking something back into place.

“ _Wast_ -te your f-fucking time! That stupid toy picked a w-w-worthless human, did you s-see?” he barked back a short laugh.

“And a night guard, no less. It _never_ learns.”

He had already won.

* * *

 

Everyone held their breath.

Well, Mike and Jake did.

The rest of the bodies in the room were so still that only the faint whirr from their processors could be heard. Not even Bonnie’s ears twitched.

When it became apparent nothing was happening, and no one was stalking them, the whole party slowly relaxed. Only Jake remained on edge, but Mike wasn’t sure he blamed him.

“Springtrap avoided the night roaming feature.” Mike kept his voice down, and turned to look up at Freddy, who towered quietly over him. “What are the odds he won’t think the humans are endos?”

“High ‘nough, Mikey.” Freddy supplied. “Like we said, we haven’t seen ‘im in a dog’s age. Reckon he’s just a mite scared, being in a new place and all.”

“Especially a place where our heads are _hanging_ on the wall.” That was Chika, her voice a little snap in Jake’s direction. He ducked from her accusatory gaze and backed up into Foxy by accident. The fox’s broken muzzle nearly clipped his head as it swung, and Mike heard the little growl.

“Foxy.” Mike warned, not looking away from the hall he was peering down. He sighed. Well, if Freddy didn’t think Spring was going to be hostile, just scared, he supposed Plan B was still okay to use.

Mike couldn’t help shake a nagging feeling though. As if on cue, the world seemed to slow. Sharp fingers pried into the back of his mind, sending the unique sensation of ice crawling down his spine.

 _‘Faaauuulty. Caaaarefuuul. Friiiight.’_ It was only three words, but they were spaced out as if paragraphs were between them. Their soft hisses were as light as leaves caught in an autumn wind, crinkled and feathery. Mike shivered and pulled back from the hall, glancing at the present box. As quick as it had come, the feeling of something invading his mind space slipped back out and vanished. His thoughts were his own again.

_‘I’ll never get used to him doing that.’_

“I can’t believe I’m saying this. But, let’s split up gang.” He wondered vaguely what all the secrecy was on Mari’s end, but decided not to press it. Glancing at Jake, Mike recalled the puppet wasn’t overtly fond of Adults. That was probably it.

_‘I hope.’_

“You sound like that blond guy from that cartoon!” Chica giggled at him and Mike shot her a little smile. “I think someone’s been watching too much tv on his night shifts.”

“Long as Freddy’s okay with it, I got a plan. Chica and Bon can check the stage room. Foxy, you head to the entrance—I know it’s far away but you’re the fastest guy we’ve got.” The prideful pirate’s chest puffed out importantly. Bonnie rolled his eyes.

“Freddy, you head down that hall,” Freddy nodded, but he had the foresight to ask,

“N’you, Mike?”

“Jake and I are gonna check the north side. I’d rather have one of you guys find Springtrap, but if it’s gonna be us I’d rather it be two against one. You know. Just in case Trap’s not so… _happy_ to see us ‘ _endos_.’” Mike said, tone light but with a bit of an edge to it. It caught Jake’s attention.

“What? What do you mean endos—“

Mike cut him off at the guilty looks from his friends.

“Long story. C’mon, let’s go.”

The entire group left the security room, leaving Freddy to head up the hall. Foxy made his way toward the entrance. Bonnie and Chika found the little stage with no problem, but no sign of their missing rabbit friend.

Mike and Jake went their own way.

But then Mike paused, heightened senses picking up an acute noise. It sounded like…shuffling? His mind slammed into over drive, because this was really just like every other freaking night of his life when he first started his job.

Freddy didn’t shuffle. Foxy wouldn’t sneak. Marionette floated. Chica was with Bonnie, and only the purple bunny had the limp.

It was something else.

His mind went cold again; his vision twinkled in and out. No words accompanied the sensation, but the emotion was warning and flighty. The hold left abruptly, leaving Mike with a panicked feeling.

 _‘Freddy was wrong—shit—‘_ As humans, they were sitting ducks. He was suddenly aware of Jake fucking _talking at normal speaking level ohmygod_ —

“I just don’t see—mmph!”

Mike clamped his hand around Jake’s mouth, clutching maybe a little too tight. Jake stiffened at the hold but didn’t fight too much as Mike hauled them both down and under a display of parts. They tucked into the shadows as the noise got louder. Jake stopped moving altogether, mostly because the two could see the rotted, horrible legs of Springtrap slowly shuffling toward their hiding place.

“Three…” he breathed so softly Jake almost didn’t catch it. “Rule three. _Play. Dead.”_ Came the soft whisper as Springtrap shambled closer, closer…

He was four feet. Three. Two…

The feet stopped, along with Mike’s heart.

Mike could see the bones and stringy tendons clinging to the support beams of the rabbit’s metal system. Wait—bones and…?

Mike swallowed down a scream. Springtrap was one of the—he had a body in—

By now, the rabbit robot could have reached out and touched them, for fuck’s sake. If Springtrap took a step to the right, if he leaned down and really checked, god this was it, fuck—

In the security room, and after careful consideration, a black spiderlike finger calmly pressed a button.

And then far, far down the hall from the two humans came a faint voice.

“Hello?” A child’s voice—a young boy’s.

Springtrap froze.

Across the building, the present box’s lid gently closed.

Even as the rabbit twisted around and headed out the door, Mike couldn’t get his heart to stop its hammering. He felt light headed, from both confusion and relief.

 _‘BB? What the shit, we didn’t bring him—wait! The audio system!’_ One look at Jake’s face answered some of Mike’s questions. _‘It’s used to scare the patrons—the gang must be in the security room. Thank fucking god.’_

Springtrap wasn’t gone a full minute before Mike was peeling his body out from under the tables.

“Whatreyou—“ Jake rasped, and he sounded scared shitless. Mike didn’t blame him for being scared.

But he did blame him for everything else.

“SSh!! Just c’mon.” He snapped, taking hold of the other’s arm and with surprising strength—the kind of strength you get from working with giant robots—the night guard hefted the other up. “Follow me—and _stay calm_.” He stressed with a finger to his lips.

They got maybe four paces before _it_ happened.

Jake gave a small whimper, grabbing Mike’s arm and tugging hard.

“S-s-something’s got me—“ Came the small petrified voice, and for a brief second Mike forgot to breathe, his heart pounding in his throat. Oh, fuck, how had Springtrap done that? Mike steeled himself and twisted to see…

“Lad’s jumpier than’o flying fish he is. “ Foxy’s lowered voice grunted at them as he moved dismissively past Jake (who squeaked) and bumped his nose amicably against Mike’s shoulder. It was best way he knew how to say hi nowadays, with his sharp endoskeleton exposed, and his other hand a freaking hook.

Mike gave a short breath; it turned into a little relieved laugh.

“Whatdya expect—it’s his first night as a guard. Go easy on him. Remember what I was like?”

“Aye. Ye cried like a wee bab fer yer mum.” Foxy cackled at the memory.

“Thanks, Foxy.” Mike muttered dryly, shoving the pirate fox playfully and heading off.

The pirate fox’s tail wagged—only Jake saw it—and he followed his Captain.

“I don’t get it.” Mike frowned in frustration as they walked into the security room again. “He should have walked right by Freddy. Or even Foxy! Foxy showed up just after him.”

“Aye, but I didn’t see hide nor hair of the fellow.”

“We heard Balloon Boy’s voice; it was only a room over from us.” Chica supplied helpfully. “But by the time we got there, we didn’t find anything.”

“Uh…m-maybe he was in the basement?” Jake finally said.

Mike froze. So did the others. He turned on Jake, for the first time actually looking something resembling anger.

Before Jake could back up and get some space between him and the livid guard, Foxy was there lightning quick, almost as if Mike had called him. A hook swiped the young man’s collar and lifted him clean off the ground with a squeak of machinery, holding the human off the ground as Mike stomped up to him.

“What do you MEAN there’s a fucking basement you _sonvabitch_ —“

“H-hey, _whoa_ , dude!”

“Lad, ye keep yer head.” Surprisingly, it was Foxy who came to Jake’s aid. “Faulty wiring in this landlubber musta made his memory slip.” He growled at the man, warning him that further slip ups would most certainly not be tolerated.

“Easy, Mike.” Freddy clapped a baseball mitt hand over Mike’s boney shoulder. “He doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t know what?” Jake squeaked. That noise and his friend’s words relaxed Mike slowly but surely.

“The aftermath. You don’t know the aftermath. You think some murders just happened, right? Back in the 80’s or something? You’re half correct. That isn’t the whole story. The robots…these guys, right here—“ He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder for emphasis. “The ones just like Springtrap—they went nuts.”

Jake tried to look at all the bots as a whole, to gauge their reaction over the night guard calling them crazy. He was horrified to see the guilty looks aimed everywhere but Mike.

“They got fixed. Their sane now. But Springtrap? Yeah, he doesn’t know. This is all a game to him. He thinks you and I are ‘ _breaking the rules.’_ If he catches us, if he even _sees_ us, he’ll try to stuff us into a suit.”

It was then Jake seemed to recall he was dangling by Foxy’s hook, and he started to thrash.

“W-w-hy??”

“It’s in their programming, _dude_.” said Mike. “That, and one other reason.” Jake didn’t seem to be listening, which was probably for the best.

The pirate lowered him with a snort, freeing his hook when Jake was grounded once more.

“Dude that’s so fucked up, why do they—? N-no I don’t wanna know. Fucking…man, we need to get out of here, or, or something. Build a wall!” Jake was practically blubbering by now, and Mike softened considerably, despite himself.

“We can’t leave. You started this shit; you’re helping us finish it.” Mike glared, his stare rooting him in place. How did he stare like that? Despite himself, Jake choked out a small question.

“…t-they…they didn’t try to kill you?”

“Uh, yeah, no. They did.” Mike raised his shoulder, it looked stiff. “I’ve got a scar on this shoulder that looks like a shark tried to take a bite out of me—“

“Still sorry about that, matey.”

“I broke this wrist when I didn’t close the door fast enough and Bon tried to pull me through.”

“Eh-heh…”

Mike kept his voice low and serious. “But I _earned_ their trust, no matter what happened. I had to go through hell and back to make things right for these guys, got it? And you and your buddies here, made a goddamn _horror attraction_ around it like…like it was a joke.” His anger had come back, but it was a slow house fire burn.

Jake whimpered.

“Why do you look so scared, Jake?” Mike spit out the name. “You wanted to make the experience real. So you brought in an animatronic that wants to murder our asses in the most painful way possible, and you woke it up.”

“T-t-this was never…this is a big misunderstanding, dude!”

“Yeah. Corporate said the same thing when Freddy broke my ankle.”

Jake fell silent; he tried to more distance between him and Mike, dutifully not looking at the robots.

Mike heaved a sigh and ran his hands through his hair.

_‘This is a fucking mess, god.’_

“Alright, Jake…look. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean.” He stopped and started. “I got carried away. But trust me, please. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. We’ll take care of this, okay? You’ll be fine.”

Jake swallowed, flicking nervously around the attraction he’d built.

“Take Mikey’s word, son.” Freddy said gently. “He’s jus’ tryin’ to give ya the truth to the matter. S’better if you knew.”

“It’s true, Jake.” Chica murmured, her softer voice seeming to break Jake from his panic filled looking. “Mike always has a plan, and if he doesn’t, Freddy does!”

“She’s right! This’ll all work out.” Bonnie tried keeping his voice lighthearted, even putting his hand on the other human’s shoulder. Jake flinched but didn’t pull away.

“Aye, the lad’s young a good a Cap’n as meself. N’I don’ put trust in lazy louts, swabbie.”

Mike smiled softly at the words of his friends. Man, they were such dorks. But they were _his_ dorks. He had meant what he said about getting Jake out of here alive—Mike had promised himself, Freddy, everyone, the murders of the pizzeria would end with Phone Guy. He didn’t want his friends to feel bad for just trying to do their damn jobs.

So far, they’d been riding a winning streak.

“We’re taking Springtrap with us when we get him. And I want you to shut down this damn hellhole.”

Jake nodded, eyes glassy, body shaking and a bit of snot in his nose. What else could he do, but agree?

 _“Build it up with iron and steel,_  
_Iron and steel, iron and steel,_  
 _Build it up with iron and steel,_  
 _My fair lady…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you noticed Mike’s rules? They sound rather familiar, but I suppose you take what you learn from someone’s advice. It’s either that or get murdered via metal furry suit, y’know? Hint: Mike has five of them. Also, that moment when you realize you had a plan for the story, and while you ARE moderately following it…you also realize you’re going in a different direction than you intended. Uhm. Okay.


	4. The Kids Aren't Alright

_“Iron and steel will bend and bow,_  
_Bend and bow, bend and bow,_  
 _Iron and steel will bend and bow,_  
 _My fair lady…”_

* * *

**4\. The Kids Aren’t Alright**

“You didn’t happen to find an empty suit, did you?” Mike picked up a small paper plate doll, deemed it worthless and dropped it back into the box he was rifling around.

“Uh, n-no…”

“Damn. That coulda really helped.” One of Foxy’s hooks? Hm. Foxy already had one—this one was rusty anyway. He pitched that too, and dug further into the box of junk.

“It be nearly eleven, matey.” Foxy drawled as he watched Bonnie lean around the corner. The purple bunny had the best hearing of them all, for obvious reasons.

Mike, who was humming a line from _My Grandfather’s Clock,_ only nodded absently.

“W-what are you looking for?” Jake tried, voice small and meek.

“Something—anything—to help us. That we can reach.” Said Mike, noticing the little bobble had of Chica had teeth.

 _‘Oh man. That’s too cute.’_ Despite the situation he chuckled and tapped its tiny head as he passed, still scouting.

“You two best not leave the room, buckos.”

“I know, Freddy.” Mike sighed and moved the present box onto the desk so he could sit in the chair. “There could be something out there we could use, though. I dunno, maybe we just charge Springtrap, pin him down and try to talk some sense into him?”

“Might not be the best way to make a first impression.” Chica said gently.

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about Spring coming in and _breaking our necks_.” Mike pointedly didn’t look at Jake. “Or worse.”

_‘What bothers me is what I saw in Springtrap. He had a…human corpse inside him. A big one. What does THAT mean?’_

Mike spared a glance at the others, wondering if they could tell him.

He looked toward the box. Or, better yet…

“There’s still the other tapes, Mike.” Bonnie said, interrupting Mike’s thoughts.

“Eh? Oh, right. Thanks, Bon.”

 _“—Today's lesson we'll be continuing our training on proper suit-handling techniques. When using an animatronic as a suit, please ensure that the animatronic parts are tightly compressed and fastened by the spring locks located around the inside of the suit. It may take a few moments. Position your torso in a manner where you can move and speak.Try not to nudge or press against any of the spring locks inside the suit. Do not touch the spring locks at any time. Do not breathe on a spring lock, as the moisture may loosen them and cause them to break loose.”_  

The top of the present box, with its grandiose, large faded bow, peeked open a crack. Spindly fingers slipped out, took hold of the little Chica bobble head, and pulled it back into its box without so much as a noise.

Only Jake noticed it, and he wished he hadn’t.

The whole thing made his skin crawl, and he didn’t quite know why.

_“In case the spring locks come loose while you are wearing the suit, please try to maneuver away from populated areas before bleeding out as to not ruin the customer experience. As always if there is ever an emergency please go to the designated safe room. Every location is built with one extra room that is not programmed into the digital map layout programmed into the animatronic or security system. This room is hidden to customers and invisible to animatronics and always off camera. As alw—fzt!“_

Mike stopped the recording quickly. He wasn’t in the mood to hear that last bit, especially since something was smiling at through them in the window.

“…lad…” That was Foxy, his voice a low rumble of warning as they all watched Springtrap incline his head at them. Despite the crowd of fellow robots, Springtrap stared down at Mike with an odd look in his eyes.

Mike swallowed.

A classic mistake. They were too busy listening to Phone Guy to realize Springtrap was given plenty of opportunity to sneak up on them. it wasn’t much a sneak attack though. He wasn’t even trying to get past the junk they’d piled in front of the door, Mike realized. His mind spun as he tried to understand this mentality, tried to pick apart the reasoning behind it. the robots all had their preferred mode of attack—Springtrap should be no different.

…was he afraid to come into the security room, then?

“No one…move.” He breathed out of the corner of his mouth, one hand slowly feeling along the desk for the only thing of use he’d found—the crowbar. The animatronics shuffled once before going rigid, only Jake seemed to notice the tight circle that was made around the security guard. Nervously, Jake edged closer to Mike, sensing that sticking by him ensured his protection from the other animatronics.

Mike’s fingers curled around the smooth surface of the item.

He didn’t know how much use it would be, but he did know a few good swings would do more damage than his fists ever could hope to.

Springtrap only tilted his head—once at the box sitting in the chair, as if to study it. And then to the only other human in the room, staring down at Jake with something more playful and sinister in his eyes. Mike tensed like a coiled spring, ready to strike.

The rabbit only glanced at him in clear amusement, before he sank out of sight and vanished.

The whole crowd jumped, and moved as one to try and see over the edge of the wall. Even with the clean glass, it was impossible to see Springtrap at all.

“He didn’t look very happy to see us…” said Bonnie glumly. Out of them all, the bunny robot had been the most excited to be reunited with their coworker.

“He didn’t look like he noticed us _at all_ , buddy. Bit odd, the way he kept starin’ at Mikey.” Freddy commented slowly, sounding lost in thought. Mike nodded, recalling the chilling, amused gaze Springtrap was giving him and decided he didn’t like it one bit.

Mike _was_ dressed as the security guard, after all.

“He..he must have left?” Chica wondered, but she didn’t sound wholly convinced. Foxy seemed to agree with her statement, though, as he began to curse Springtrap out, his hook brandished.

“Aye, the nerve o’ that yellow-bellied rat! Running like a damn cowar—“

Foxy was drowned out by a sharp cry of panic.

“Mike!” Jake shouted, and the guard twisted to see what the reason for such a shout was.

He got his answer in the form of breaking boxes, and Springtrap’s hulking visage leaning round the corner as he dragged Jake against the wall, pinning him in place.

Mike watched in terror as Springtrap’s arm came jerkily through the barricade. Someone—Freddy, he realized dimly as he noticed the big brown paw—grabbed his arm and hauled him back in one smooth motion and out of harm’s way. It was thanks to the bear’s reflexes Mike wasn’t being choked by that massive hand that came after him. It occurred to Mike that if Springtrap had gotten him, maybe he would have let Jake go. The skinny human yelped but let himself be manhandled when he realized who it was—instinctively he wedged between Freddy and Bonnie to avoid Springtrap’s reach again while Foxy screeched his own call at Springtrap’s stupid grinning face. But a scream broke Mike sharply from his relief and he jerked upright. It hadn’t occurred to him, fuck it _should have_ , though.

The gang didn’t see adults as endos anymore.

But adults in general were still given more distaste than even Foxy would admit. Mike had been saved—he was _their_ Night Guard, their friend and coworker, and they protected him as much as he did them. (Arguably more, since they were the massive animatronics and he was, _what_? Just scrawny Mikey.)

Freddy had had the foresight to snag Mike out of harm’s way, yes. But he wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t care—he cared about Mike. They all did.

Jake? Jake didn’t fare so well.

“Jake!” Mike cried, suddenly pulling on Freddy’s grip on him. “No—fucking let him go!” he demanded, but Springtrap just laughed—god it was an awful noise—and choked on the corpse still jammed inside its mechanics.

“Guys—let me go!” Mike shouted at Freddy. Instead Foxy grabbed his other side, pulling him back as Mike’s skinny frame was hauled clear off the ground, forced to watch helpessly as Springtrap pulled Jake further into the darkness.

And the robot was laughing about it too, the fucker.

There was a sickening, sharp crack split through the air. Springtrap’s hand came away from Jake’s neck as the guy went limp. His wide glassy eyes stared far beyond Mike. This did nothing for Mike’s nerves.

Any meager attempt at a barrier had been destroyed during the struggle. Bonnie and Foxy decided to attempt a counter-attack, but Springtrap just laughed and pulled out of sight. This time, he could be heard leaving. Shuffling down the hall with surprising speed.

All eyes were on Mike.

“F-follow him. Bonnie—Foxy, g-go. Please.” Mike gasped, knees shaking as he tried to tear his eyes away from Jake’s corpse.

Obediently, the chosen trons stormed out the door.

“Come b-back in five if you can’t get him!” Mike shouted down the hall, letting himself collapse back into the chair. Chica had replaced Foxy’s spot when he left, and laid a wing on his shoulder gently, trying to offer some comfort.

He hid his face in his hands, forcing himself just to breathe.

 _‘This is all so messed up.’_ He thought desperately, and almost wished for that other presence from Marionette to invade his mind, if only so the puppet could offer some form of comfort. Marionette did not, for reasons known only to itself. The guard was left in the turmoil of his own guilty, broken thoughts, and he cried a little about it, shoulders shaking.

Mike looked up a moment later when he heard a sliding noise.

It took him a moment to realize, but Jake’s body was gone, and Freddy was walking back into the room. He spotted Mike’s expression and guilty looked away. Having no other way to express his anger besides tears, Mike felt his anger toward Springtrap turn toward Freddy. He didn’t know why. But it felt good to yell.

“Why did you stop me?” Mike demanded, adrenaline and emotional pain making him raise his voice. “I could have saved him—what the hell, Freddy?!”

“Yah couldn’ta saved him, son.” Freddy spoke, calm as a summer wind against all of Mike’s pent up rage. “He’da just taken yah both.”

Yeah, okay. Freddy had a point. Still.

“Taken us _where_? There’s no suits here Freddy! He couldn’t have killed me that way and you fucking know it! Jake needed us to protect him and you just fucking—you just let him be…be…” Mike choked on his words, and let a sob come out instead. The tears were coming again; especially as he realized how much he’d fucking failed the guy he’d only just promised he would keep safe.

Foxy and Bonnie returned, but quickly noticed the tension in the air between the two they considered both their leaders. Foxy wandered over to the obviously distressed security guard, but Bonnie hung by Freddy. Chica remained by Mike, and for that he was grateful.

“Remember those rules of yours—“ Freddy tried to calm him down.

“Rule 4, you mean? The one where ‘sometimes bad nights happen?’” He said angrily. “Where sometimes you don’t make it out? Yeah—that wasn’t supposed to refer to some innocent guy who didn’t know what he was getting into, Fredbear!” Mike shouted, throwing the stupid crowbar down because he was afraid he’d take it to the window to let off some steam. Or worse, Freddy himself.

“You guys should have helped Jake! You shouldn’t have let Springtrap just fucking kill him like he was—like he wasn’t _worth it_! He was a human being, _he was a kid once too…”_ Mike sobbed out, throwing all his frustration at this situation out on Freddy, who took it with more grace then you can imagine. The bear bowed his head, and let Mike be mad with him.

Mad was better than dead.

“Mike.” Chica shushed, her voice soft. The security guard blanched, twisting away from her too.

The fact Freddy hadn’t said anything made Mike pause. Swallowing a shaky hiccup, Mike swiped his nose and turned to stare at the bear.

“…what would he have done with me, Freddy.” Silence. Mike’s gut-twisted. “Tell me!”

And god, it was the desperate yelp of a boy it seemed. Mike was only twenty-one. Fresh out of college. Still wet behind the ears. Freddy and the gang were only supposed to care about kids.

But the defiant, scrawny little security guard sitting before them meant so much more to them than any adult had ever been.

Mike’s blue, blue eyes turned upward to meet Freddy’s. The bear stared back. The gears began working.

“Springtrap…broke his neck.” Mike mumbled over his tongue, voice low. “That’s not how you guys would have killed him. Breaking a neck is like, like something a human wo—“

Mike’s blood froze.

Freddy met his eyes quietly, and saw a bottomless well of pain and torture. Mike ran through the facts, his mind in overdrive as it fought to right itself.

The rotted, _bigger_ corpse in Springtrap.

The _human_ gaze.

 _Who_ would have worn him.

The way he _killed_.

And Mike understood.

“He’s…he’s not just a robot.” Mike choked, feeling the world fall out from beneath him.

“He’s n-not one of the victims, i-is he.” Chica was trembling, whether from fear or anger, Mike didn’t know. He leaned against her anyway without looking, trying to offer comfort. Her wing-like hand tightened desperately round his boney shoulder. This time, he did not pull away.

Bonnie was staring at the floor, ears sinking. Foxy shuffled nervously, his jaw clanking gently in the soft, eerie silence of the room.

And then, Freddy shook his head. Not a victim, then. Mike, feeling overwhelmed and sick to his stomach, managed a tiny

“Then what the fuck _is_ he?”

And poor, broken-hearted Freddy’s tone almost destroys Mike from its pain and anguish alone. Freddy was suffering—they all were. They had only reacted because they wanted to protect Mike, and fuck anyone else. Even themselves. Jake was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Freddy closed his eyes.

“He’s the killer.”

* * *

 

 _“Build it up with silver and gold,_  
_Silver and gold, silver and gold,_  
 _Build it up with silver and gold,_  
 _My fair lady…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost felt bad for killing Jake, who was Phone Dude. Then I did it anyway.


	5. Messing with the Program

_"Silver and gold will be stolen away,_  
_Stolen away, stolen away,_  
 _Silver and gold will be stolen away,_  
 _My fair lady..."_  
  
**5\. Messing with the Program**

That could have gone better than planned.

He still got a kill out of it—but it was the weakest link.

Well, _one_ of them.

Slowly, Springtrap’s body staggered over to the old desk. He had destroyed every head he had found in the basement, which had taken a lot of his energy but had done something to soothe his rage.

Godamn fucking piece of shit—

_You didn’t have to kill the man._

“Heh. Sure I did. Made my point. Scared the little shits, didn’t I?” He sincerely hoped they liked his little dress rehearsal.

_When Puppet gets here…you’ll be sorry._

And the killer barks a short, nasally laugh.

“S’what you said last time. But I’m still here!” He roared a hacking laugh, and turned back to the desk. “I’m still here, and that fucking toy has had to scrap the bottom of the ba-b-barrel this time. You see that kid? He’s a _twig_.” Springtrap made his teeth gnash cruelly.

“He doesn’t stand a ghost of a chance.”

Things were almost ready, despite his little detour. He always loved to make an entrance, after all.

* * *

“He’s the—your—?” Mike really felt the rug pulled out from under him this time.

“Well, not directly _ours_ , but. The, the kids.” Freddy grumbled, staring at a child’s drawing tacked haphazardly onto the wall. It was of him, Bonnie, and a child with pigtails. He wondered sadly what her name was.

“Right. The kids.” Mike softened, giving a sad cast downwards as the memories hit him. “But we…we got them to move on. Didn’t we?” he asked delicately.

The robots nodded, knowing the only thing left in them was pure machinery and artificial intelligence nowadays—physical and mental.

That didn’t change the hurt though. You can’t erase your past.        

They were supposed to _protect_ those kids.

“We thought his spirit hadn’t stuck around. After he was killed in Springtrap, the backroom was boarded up. Jeremy musta done it. ‘Specially seeing how bad the restaurant was doing after the…Bite.” Freddy rumbled slowly.

“Maybe Jeremy didn’t know. About Springtrap being…haunted, I mean.” Mike suggested, but the robots didn’t have an answer. From what the robots said, he didn’t think Jeremy knew anything about the murderous spirit that had gotten lodged in Springtrap’s innards. At least, he hoped not.

“After that, the toys were sold, we were put back together and a new restaurant was opened.”

“Freddy’s Pizzeria?” Mike blinked. “That place was open for almost twenty years before I took the job.”

“Aye.”

“So…Springtrap’s been there ever since. Waiting.” Mike thought back to the tape recording. “And you guys wouldn’t have _known_ about it if the back room was off your mapping system. When you thought Springtrap ‘vanished,’ you thought he really _had_.”

The animatronics shuddered.

“Christ…guys, I-I…” This was _awful_ , this was just one big mess.

_‘The kids. I got through to the kids. The animatronics aren’t inherently evil anyway. But this…this murderer. How can I reason with the bastard that ruined so many lives? Fuck, there’s no way this ends happy. Not this time.’_

Mike became distinctly aware of a strange, floaty sensation. For a moment, he thought it was Marionette. Then he realized grimly wrong he was.

It was getting really hard to breathe.

The guard became acutely aware of the pressure on his chest seconds before his vision tunneled on him. That was the only warning he was given as vertigo set in and his body crumpled.

“Mike!” That was Bonnie, because if it was Foxy grabbing him like that, he would have a hook in his back. Nope, definitely the large purple rabbit had stooped to stop his drop backwards. Bonnie narrowly prevented him smashing his head on the corner of the desk, and lowered him to the ground to lean against his arm as his animatronic friends crowded around him.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“It ain’t Marri in him, is it?”

“He’s gasping like a fish outta water—“

“Ven…t…system….” Mike gasped as he tried to look at the grate just off to his left. He hadn’t been checking the cameras; he didn’t notice his oxygen was….almost nonexistent.

What the fuck was being pumped into this room, then? This place was air tight? Fuck…

There was the soft sound of the present box opening, and for the second time that night a long black finger smoothly found the correct button. Slowly but surely, the vent system choked back to life. Stale but breathable air began to brush over Mike’s face. Lucky for him he was resting right by the grate.

The robots twisted as one—Mike’s eyes were closed, and he was focusing on just breathing—and watched as the Marionette’s arms moved fluidly to hand the tablet over to Freddy.

“Says ‘Ventilation…Rebooting…” There was a tiny _blip_! “S’all right, looks like.” Freddy lowered the screen and looked down worriedly, gears crunching in confusion.

“Ya’lright down there son?” He called hopefully.

Mike tossed up a weak thumbs up. He flopped onto his side and sat up slowly, inching when the world moved too fast on him.

“Guess we…don’t let that happen again.” Mike managed, to which his friends all nodded quietly. Each were still giving him worried looks of varied intensity. Freddy’s was the worst, so Mike shot him a steady smile and got up to show he was in fact, all right.

When Freddy seemed convinced Mike wasn’t in danger of passing out on them, he handed back the tablet. Mike took it gratefully and set it on the desk, right by his hand so he could grab it if he started to feel lightheaded again. He turned to study the set-up, hand covering his lips and chin ponderously.

“Thaaat could be a problem.”

“What is it, lad?” Foxy asked, ears swiveling toward his voice as he looked down the hall.

“Well, we can’t _all_ leave the security room now. Someone’s gonna have to stay and make sure the vent system or anything _else_ doesn’t go out. I really don’t want this place to go up in flames. We’re in enough hot water as it.”

“Lad’s got a point. How are we gonna run this bilge rat out if we can’t even _find him?”_

“Think we should all just go down to the basement?” Someone suggested.

“No…maybe. I dunno.” Frustrated, Mike didn’t notice the footsteps until someone went

“Holy shit!” In the security doorway.

Mike and the animatronics turned as one, blinking in bewilderment at the red-haired man, maybe a few years older than Mike, let his jaw and knapsack drop.

“Uhh…” goes Mike smartly.

The guy takes one look at the robots and turns to bolt.

“Shit—Foxy!” Mike yells, because they really can’t have another human running around here for Springtrap to find.

The animatronic is out the door in a flash of red, and they can hear his cackling and watch as he effortlessly nabs the human by the hood with his hook and hauls him back into the office.

“Ole’ Foxy’s still got some spring left in ‘im—best not to run again, lad. Ya landlubbers run outta air.” Foxy made sure to growl his next words, “And _aye_ don’t.”

“Stand down, Captain.” Mike muttered in mild amusement as he walked over, lowering his hand to tell Foxy it was alright to put the guy down.

“Who—who the hell are you? Where’s Jake, he didn’t say anything about you….guys…coming in!” the guy shrieked, pressing against the wall to appear as small as possible.

“If this is about legal shit, Dana handles that—“

“No, for the last time! Oh for the love of…I, look. There’s something you need to know.” Mike paused.

“A lot of somethings, actually…”

* * *

“You’re just gonna let him go?” Bonnie asked incredulously. Mike tried to answer, but was yawning too hard to form the words.

He nodded.

Mike heard the door close and lock with an air of finality. The security guard for Fazbear’s Fright had done his job. His new one, anyway. Lock them up for the night. And come six am, if the problem was solved, Mike would call the man on his cell and relay the good news.

If not…

Mike didn’t want to think about that. It was only twelve forty-something in the morning, but Mike’s driving and the combined pressure left him feeling more than a little groggy.

“We don’t need another murder on our hands, guys. Springtrap needs our full focus.” He yawned again, trying to stifle it behind his hand _. ‘Now is not the time to feel sleepy, dammit!’_

Wearily, he found himself the chair again, pulling up the tablet to give himself something to do.

“Wasn’t a bright one, was he. Didn’t think to ask after his crewmate, did he?” Foxy sneered, but dropped the expression when Mike shot him a look at the callousness of the human life.

“I don’t know how we’re going to explain that…well, maybe we just be honest. S’one way to get this place shut down.” He muttered sourly, angered that it took the death of someone to do so.

“Mike?” That was Chica, her voice worried and gentle. He turned at the sound, trying to give her a little assuring smile.

“Yeah?”

“…maybe you should get some sleep.”

“What? N-no, I can’t right now—“ He tried, but it was weak and the other animatronics sensed this immediately.

“You _know_ nothing good will happen if you’re not rested. Your plan can wait, especially now that we’re all locked in here for good.”

“Miss Chica’s got a point, son.” Freddy came up, patting the night guard’s boney shoulder. Mike knew Freddy was right, but did he have to rub it in?

“Guys—“ He couldn’t let his guard down!

“Just a few hours. Take a short nap.”

“Yeah, we’ll stay on watch for you.” Bonnie agreed eagerly. “Your batteries just need a recharge; it’ll be okay, buddy.”

Mike relented. It was hard to put up a fight when he was yawning, and he was fitting all nicely in the corner of the room, farthest from the door. Those robots didn’t play fair.

 _‘But then,’_ he thought with a little smile _‘When do they ever?’_

It was a little hard to ignore how comfy he was, or the fact Freddy had draped Mike’s worn blazer over his chest. He drew his lets up under it, because it had been for the guard before him, and the guy was big, apparently. Hunkering down, Mike listened to the comforting, distant whirr of the animatronics’ bodies, and slowly felt his head fall to the right.

Mike was humming _Grandfather’s Clock_ for three lines until he realized he wasn’t the only one.

He stopped, listening to the tinkling notes from the music box. After the chorus ended, it softly slid open. Mike blinked tiredly.

“Marion?” Mike murmured, almost asleep. He held his hands out from the warmth of his jacket slash blanket anyway, lifting his head from where it was leaning against the wall. The spindly finger leaned out of its box closer to hover in between them, but Mike was careful not to touch. The puppet was always chillingly cold, nothing at all like the animatronics with their fur and warm bodies from their machinery constantly chugging along. Besides, he wasn’t sure the little fellow liked being touched all that much.

Mike closed his eyes and lowered his hands, wrapping his arms around himself for some meager warmth.

Marionette floated closer, almost in his personal space as his grinning face stared down at the motionless guard.

 _‘Could you have saved Jake?’_ Mike finally thought, loud and hard as he could project. He had no idea how to do this, but it seemed to work. After a moment, the Marionette’s voice chimed in the back recesses of his thoughts.

_‘Do not dwell on the past, Night Guard. No good can come of it.’_

That wasn’t a no. Mike turned against the wall, feeling bitter about this whole thing. Curling up more on himself, he was pressing his right shoulder against the wall and taking solace in the fact that if anything wanted to get at him, they’d have to go through four protective animatronics.

And of course, Marionette.

Mike had learned one certain thing in his first days, on the night shift back at the pizzeria.

It didn’t matter how terrifying things were out there. If your body was out of adrenaline, and wanted sleep?

It damn well was going to get it, even if it meant you passing straight out.

Moments later, surrounded by the protective bots, the security guard did just that.

* * *

Mike woke to the sound of a child’s laughter, ringing down the hall. It echoed from a strange dream he’d been having, but it was gone the instant he was awake.

He gasped sharply, sitting upright and nearly sending the present box that had found its way on his lap to the floor. He saved it in time, muttered a little apology to it and had it back on the desk by the time it took for the others to notice he was awake.

They looked equal parts sympathetic and worried.

“He’s… _moving_.” Chica said delicately, handing the camera screen over to Mike.

“He just appeared out of nowhere; we’ve got him going in circles for now.” Bonnie explained proudly.

“Good job, guys. Then it’s time for us to get moving too.” Mike arched his back quickly, releasing a sigh of relief when his bad shoulder popped.

“Jake—“ Mike tried to avoid the sad frown at the name of the deceased. “Remember Jake something about the basement. I’ll bet Bon’s new guitar he’s been scooting down there every time he wants to hide. If we don’t do this right, he’ll sneak back down there. On his turf.”

“So do we go and, what? Corner him?” Chica asked hopefully, always the one to like making the first move. But Mike shook his head, lost in thought.

Remembering something he had found in the giant box, Mike wandered back over to it, ignoring Bonnie’s little whine about why it had to be _his_ guitar.

“And since Springtrap’s looking for _me_ , I think we oughta give the fucker what he wants.”

Triumphantly, Mike pulled the Freddy head from the bottom of the box and held it up for them to see. It was a toy model, one of the many duplicates. The back was rotted out, must be why it wasn’t on display in the attraction.

Nevertheless, Mike put it on. It didn’t reek _too_ badly. He stood there proudly with his hands on his hips, peering out the holes to see his friend’s reactions.

They were mixed.

“Son, you can’ be serious.” Freddy said, holding a paw up warningly. Mike lifted the head off.

“What? It worked on your toy versions, you told me. It _should_ work on something as old as Springtrap, right? With this, I can get close and maybe deactivate him before he even notices I’m not a part of the ride. If someone stays here and uses the audio to distract him, me and the others can sneak up on him. We mess with his program, geddit?” The guard grinned toothily up at them.

“What do you say, gang?”

Freddy rumbled disapprovingly.

“Aw, c’mon Fredbear—“ He only used the name when he was trying to wheedle Freddy into looking the other way when he’s something particularly prank-ish (one of his and Bonnie’s favorite pastimes) or in a few cases, very dangerous plans. Generally for himself.

Chasing down a giant metallic rabbit with the killer’s corpse—and mind—inhabiting it ranked as the second one, obviously.

“I’ll have Foxy with me.” Mike bargained. s

“I’ll go too!” Bonnie said earnestly. Mike silently thanked the rabbit for being a go-getter. (And to think, three months ago he hated the fact Bonnie was always the first to move and last to leave.)

“Aye, I won’t be letting Mikey get inta trouble, Freddy. You bet yer yellow britches on it.”

“You and Chica stay here, that way one of you can run the cameras and the computer.” Mike suggested, knowing Freddy would take the cameras in a heartbeat if it meant keeping an eye over the entire situation.

Mike waited, trying not to break out the puppy dog eyes Chica had taught him. He blinked, then grabbed the crowbar, and put the Freddy head back on. It was like he was wearing the protective bear mask into battle, as some kind of armor. Maybe he was, because Freddy seemed to take some consolation in it, and relaxed a fraction.

The bear gave him a stern, father-type look that Mike knew if his old man had given him, Mike would mostly have just rolled his eyes.

With Freddy, it was way more effective. Mike _respected_ Freddy. He held his crowbar at the ready, like a sword, saluting the bear. He was a knight, and he was ready as the Night Guard to go do his duty.

“How sure are you?” came the slow drawl.

“Eighty-five, eight six percent.” Mike admitted, voice slightly muffled from behind Toy Freddy’s cracked face.

The room was silent. Freddy sighed wearily and rubbed his face with a paw. It was a startlingly human gesture.

“We’ve gone on much less.” Freddy finally said, and they all knew what that meant.

Behind the mask, Mike’s face split into a grin.

* * *

 _“Set a man to watch all night,_  
_Watch all night, watch all night,_  
 _Set a man to watch all night,_  
 _My fair lady…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang is ready to go on the offensive! Of course, Springtrap’s probably ready to. In fact, you could say he’s dying for the chance to get at Mike again.  
> On a different note, I’m toying with the idea of writing either a prequel or sequel when this one is done. Thoughts? What is your preference of the two, if you had to pick?


	6. The Puppet Who Gave Himself Strings

_“Suppose the man should fall asleep,_  
_Fall asleep, fall asleep,_  
 _Suppose the man should fall asleep?_  
 _My fair lady…”_  
**6\. The Puppet Who Gave Himself Strings**

They walked through Fazbear Fright completely unhindered.

“Look, there’s a camera here too.” said Bonnie from Mike’s left. The human looked.

“Huh. They really covered all their bases.” That was the fifth camera they’d seen so far.

“That dern rabbit’s a fair opponent at hide’n go seek, aye lad?” Foxy drawled from his right, long muzzle leaning over his shoulder as the Fox stooped under an archway after him. Mike smiled a little, nodding as he recalled the days when he would hide—out of sheer terror—from the robots, who would tear apart the pizzeria to find him.

“Yeah, Foxy.”

Walking into the next room, which was half dark and covered in a nettle brand shape of shadows gave Mike the chills.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“I reckoned I smelled smoke.” The fox grinned back at the rabbit’s empty glare.

“What is it, Bon?” Mike murmured, twisting round a corner. He spotted the little red blinking light, and gave it a quick wave and a smile.

“Well, Springtrap _used_ to be an animatronic, right? And when we were haunted, we could still think and see.”

“Aye.” Foxy nodded, ears flicking as he thought.

“What are you saying?” Mike wondered.

“I’m just thinking, you know. If we were still in control when _we_ housed the kids, maybe…”

“You think there’s still the robot AI in there?” Mike noticed the sinking ears of the rabbit. His heart went out to the bunny.

“…”

“You _hope_ there’s still the robot AI.” Mike corrected.

“It would…it’d be nice.” Bonnie mumbled sadly, not looking any of them in the eye. Moved, Mike reached out and patted Bonnie’s upper arm, because he’d have to stretch to reach his shoulder.

“We can try. But, Bon…I just don’t know. You guys, when you were haunted, you were still you. Deep down, you knew you were Bonnie, remember?” Mike watched the rabbit’s eyes turn toward him sadly. “I promise, if there’s still a sign of Spring’s AI, and he’s still good, I’ll do everything in my power to save him.”

Bonnie said nothing, so Mike smiled and gave him a little shake. “Okay?”

“Okay, Mike.”

“Best be sayin yer prayers, then matey.”

“Huh?” Mike stopped. “Why’s that?” He turned to look at Foxy, who was staring ahead angrily.

Mike turned to look.

Standing in the doorway, Springtrap was staring at them quietly.

There were no sounds of processors or gears turning, though the rabbit moved with great effort. The lack of automaton noise solidified Mike’s worry.

Springtrap _was_ the killer.

“Wait guys.” Mike held an arm out. That single arm was able to keep the hulking animatronics at bay for some miraculous reason, and Mike thinks Springtrap doesn’t know how lucky he really is. Bonnie and Foxy looked ready to tear this guy apart. It seemed Bonnie had changed his mind, or maybe he just wanted to get the threat out of the way.

“It’s over, Springtrap. I know you’re the murderer, but this ends here.” Mike put as much determination into his words as possible. “If you come quietly we can figu—“ He stops at the wheezing laughter, sounding strained and squelching as the adult corpse slides around Springtrap’s parts.

Foxy growls and takes a step, but stayed obediently behind the outstretched arm before him.

“Now night guard.” Springtrap spits and it’s a _dare_ , “You can do better.”

Mike doesn’t know if it’s those mocking words, or Springtrap’s expression. Quite possibly it’s the fact that this mangled creature is the catalyst for all the pizzeria’s problems and heartache. The robot’s and Marionette’s nightmares _and_ a source of fear to his friends.

The killer of _children_.

Mike’s blood boils.

He takes off the Freddy mask. It clearly wasn’t fooling Springtrap.

“Fuck you, asshole.” Mike can spit too, and it makes Springtrap’s eyelid plates slid down. Now he’s still grinning, but it’s angry. He can _feel_ the negativity radiating off this animatronic, and deep down Mike knows this one is like nothing he’s ever faced before.

One look in Springtrap’s eyes, and Mike is horrified at what is staring back at him.

There was no reasoning, this time. _‘I’m sorry, Bon.’_

If Mike gave this fucker half a chance, he’d end up like Jake. And then where would the gang be?

But Bonnie and Foxy are on either side of him, (The rabbit’s fists clenched and Foxy is giving a challenging screech that Mike knows is alerting the rest of the building to an upcoming fight) and Mike, emboldened, takes the first move on the offensive.

Springtrap comes at him, swinging down to grab him as Mike bolts down between his legs.

“Risky,” He hears the dry wheeze from the yellow rabbit. “You’re going to get yourself hurt one day, doing things like that.”

“Already have.” Mike says.

Coming out from under him, he brings the crowbar around and drives it hard into the side of Springtrap’s stupid grinning face. The grin doesn’t fall of course, even when the metal crunches into the metal.

“But I survived. Got faster.” He pulled back, still holding his weapon. “So bring it the hell on.”

The rabbit recoils, giving a human-like roar of rage and pain as it reels back, clutching one side of its face. It swipes at Mike, and he ducks quickly. Foxy comes out of nowhere on his left, crouched so he can shoot his muzzle upward and lock his jaws around the rotted robot’s arm. Foxy catches hold, trying to bite the arm off entirely. His jaws are met with a combination of stringy sinew, bone and metal beams, giving his teeth plenty of places to catch. The two scrabbled together, Foxy trying to get footing and Springtrap trying to get free.

While Springtrap struggled with Foxy, Mike jumbled out from under the two and backs off as Bonnie charges into the fight with Foxy. Any affability they had wanted to show toward Springtrap had gone out the window when they’d seen that _look_ in his optics. The way he just stared at Mike. It was clear the robot’s mind was gone in favor of the murderer’s.

Springtrap punched Foxy, throwing himself free and bending around to catch hold of the slippery human darting around the animatronics.

Mike is faster than Springtrap, fiercer and surprisingly strong. He just didn’t look it, not really. Not with the way he was bunched over the desk constantly or was hiding under his hat and bangs, and almost always next to one of the animatronics, who make him look smaller just by comparison.

He’s rolling up and under Springtrap in the time it takes for Foxy’s maw to come snapping sideways. Mike had fixed it long ago, but one punch from Springtrap has the jaw creaking loose for good this time. The pirate fox’s bottom jaw hit the ground next to Mike with a shattering clang.

“S-shit!” Mike yelps, because that was just fucking brutal, and Foxy is howling for an altogether different reason now. Springtrap is relentless though, and it only takes a few more hits before Foxy’s back slams so heavily into the far wall that he leaves a dent. The fox’s body—mouthless, hook broken and one eye busted, goes down and slumps. Foxy does not get back up, and heartache threatens to cause Mike several breaths he can’t afford to lose.

“Hey! Down here asshole!” Mike delivers a good kick at the rabbit’s exposed leg, getting his attention before he can go after Foxy again. It works, lucky for Foxy and unluckily for Mike, who scrambles out of the way as Springtrap lumbers down to grab his neck.

The rabbit is glaring at him, so intent on grabbing the slippery human it fails to notice Bonnie’s fist when it flies from beneath and uppercuts the other rabbit.

Now Mike is scrambling to avoid the two fighting rabbits, each matched in size and weight. But perhaps Bonnie has the upper hand, since he was just refitted with some new tech Mike and the other workers had developed for him. Freddy had come first, they hadn’t gotten around to Chica’s and Foxy’s updates yet.

Kneeling beside the broken and unmoving Foxy, Mike desperately wishes they had.

The pirate fox garbles out a mangled sound—his voice box had gotten damaged pretty badly, then.

Mike wonders swiftly if it’s so Foxy can’t call for help.

He’s clever, Springtrap, but Mike is not fooled.

Peeling himself from Foxy’s unmoving form—while murmuring promises of coming back to help him when he had the chance—Mike dived under the table and found the crowbar again, throwing himself out from under the protection just in time to see Bonnie come crashing down before his feet.

“Bonnie!” Mike shouted, but it was too late.

“You look better like that.” Springtrap sneered from above, let go of the other’s face, cords sparking slightly as Mike stared in horror at his faceless friend. “Just like old times, right bunny?”

Running out of protection and options, and fast, Mike looks around quickly for the blinking red light. The one that meant safety, security. The rest of the gang.

“Looking for something?” Springtrap seethes, stomping over to him slowly. Mike’s stomach falls out. He realizes why Springtrap attacked them here and didn’t run, and why he hadn’t heard any sound bites.

There isn’t a camera in this area. It was a blind spot.

Rookie mistake. And now he was going to pay for it.

“Afraid you’ve got a little problem, boy.” Springtrap seems to know what Mike’s looking for, but he also notices the skinny rake of a human isn’t getting up and running, like maybe a smarter human would. But Mike can’t leave his friends, and he isn’t about to abandon them when he won’t even admit they might have just gotten killed—again—by this sick fuck. Mike only tries to move when Springtrap is closer—but the neck of his jacket is grabbed, and he’s hauled back smoothly by the stronger creature. The rabbit’s fist comes down in the back of the human’s head with a terrific smash. The last words he hears, fading out of his mind as he falls into unconsciousness is a low, amused little murmur of,

 _“You’re allll out of friends_.”

* * *

When Mike wakes, he’s lying on his side, on a cold cement floor.

 _‘The basement…’_ he knows somehow. He’s too dizzy from the hit to wonder if it’s Marionette or not who tells him, or if the idea is his own.

He lifts his gaze weakly, staring at the two white pinpricks that are coming from the shadows. Springtrap towered over him. Mike’s mind struggled, grasping at straws. He recalled what happened to Bonnie and Foxy and swallows thickly, bile and tears rising.

“F-Freddy…” He whimpers, wishing his first word was stronger, was shouted. “Chica…” He wished he was stronger.

“Don’t bother calling for them, boy.” Springtrap mocks as he takes a few steps back, letting Mike start to get up slowly.

Something comes crashing down in front of him. Two things, actually.

The rotted Freddy mask Mike had worn. And Freddy’s robotic head. The eyes are half closed, and Mike screams at the sight, at the dented metal, torn off ear and smashed glass eyes.

“They can’t hear you now.”

Mike crab crawls backward, covering his mouth as Springtrap kicks the heads out of the way and advances slowly. It’s clear he’s taking joy in Mike’s panic and milking it.

“You fucking—“ That’s all Mike gets out, because Springtrap comes down on his ankle brutally, grinding the bones together as Mike screams in pain. The robot kicked him away.

Springtrap had gotten rid of Bonnie and Foxy easily. Freddy and Chica had now too…Mike feels guilt swallow his stomach, heartache twisting his insides as Springtrap wrenched him off the ground and tossed him down to the floor. It was like a cat playing with a mouse.

“Surprisingly sturdier than the last one Puppet picked.” Springtrap mused as Mike took a swing at him.

Welp. One thing was for sure, the body wasn’t meant to be yanked around like that, and Mike knows he’s going to be feeling things for several days after this escapade.

Provided he lives, that is.

With that sickening thought, the night guard starts to mechanically haul his body off the ground. Springtrap watches, looking pleased.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The murderer—because there was a difference between the killer and Springtrap, Mike could tell—sing-songed at him and immediately followed his slow progress. Mike’s inch across the floor to the crowbar was stopped as the rabbit’s metal foot came down on top of his wrist. That, combined with his sprained if not broken ankle, caused the human to cry out softly. Mike gritted his teeth, forcing open one eye as his fingers wiggled uselessly toward the weapon.

He wasn’t acting scared, at least, not enough for the murderer, it seemed. The rabbit’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“You little shit,” in time with a kick to his ribs that sent him sprawling across the hard cement floor.

Again, Mike forced his body up. It was slower this time, and the monster could see the fiery determination behind those foggy blue eyes.

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t waste my time. Killing adults, even sticks like you, aren’t nearly as fun as the kids are.”

“There is something I want to know. Been on my mind ever since I saw you walk in.” The rabbit spoke genially as it ambled forward. Like lightning, Springtrap jerked and had his hand around Mike’s throat. At the same time Mike was forced back and slammed against the wall, where he remained pinned.

“Another night guard?!” Springtrap roared, finally moved to anger by this subject. Mike’s hands roamed, trying to stretch without being caught to find something, anything.

His fingertips grazed the familiar cool metal—Springtrap kicked the bar away from his seeking grasp, and Mike gasped out an exhausted curse. His body screamed at him in protest for every move, every breath.

“ _Why_ did the puppet choose you—because you’re annoying?!” Springtrap pressed as he swung his arm down one more time, cracking it across the shoulders and head of the security guard. He sent all his rage and frustration out in the single blow, smashing it hard into Mike’s body.

This time, Mike did not get back up.

He lay there, wheezing lowly and only his eyes moved when Springtrap loomed over him. One arm was draped loosely over his stomach, the other lay spread and quite discolored from the previous hits it had taken.

“You didn’t answer my question, boy!”

“Hell if I…know.” Mike panted, managing to spit out at the rabbit’s feet. “F...fuck off.”

It was the truth, but Springtrap didn’t seem to appreciate his smart ass comment. He found his spread arm pressed down between the metal foot and the cement flooring. This time Mike cried out louder, his body weakly thrashing, but he might as well have had the strength of a kitten when it came to freeing his arm from Springtrap’s torture.

He looks around frantically, only Freddy’s head is lying near him. His heart ached for a different reason.

Springtrap’s foot came down with even more pressure; now Mike can feel the bone giving way.

‘ _Guys…I’m sorry…I’m sorry. I fucked up. I wanted to save everyone.’_ He’s thinking so desperately, he doesn’t realize he’s projecting. He certainly hasn’t noticed the stack of present boxes, the big one blending in among its smaller counterparts. Finally, though, he notices the tune. Soft, tinkling, and light.

_All around the Mulberry Bush…_

The bone gave way.

_The monkey chased the weasel..._

Springtrap was staring down at him, so intently focused on watching Mike’s reaction, knowing that _Mike_ knew his neck was next.

_The monkey stopped to pull up his sock…_

Two seconds before the tune stops, Mike noticed the present box sliding open.

Springtrap noticed it just after him, as the music comes to a halt as if snuffed out.

And out popped the weasel.

Springtrap actually twitches; the action isn’t missed by Mike, who’s still got his arm crushed under the rabbit’s metal foot.

Marionette glides toward them, strings glinting as it approaches slowly. Regardless of any predisposition against the Marionette, the killer regroups and counters.

“Well, well well.” Rasped the giant bunny, and Mike’s skin crawled. “If it isn’t ‘the puppet who gave himself strings.” Springtrap laughed—or, at least it might have been a laugh.

 _‘What?’_ Is all Mike can coherently think through the fighting fear and relief. On the one hand, Marionette was here.

On the other, the little guy looks _so_ fucking pissed. Mike can’t remember a time he’s seen this cold, icy stare from the Marionette, who’s hunched over, limbs dangling as the slender animatronic glides slowly toward them. it isn’t even acknowledging the security guard.

“S-so you here you finally are.” Springtrap talks as the Marionette advances more.

“Takes your new little _Guard_ ian almost getting killed—again—but you made it out.” The rabbit cackles, but the thin Marionette, who in comparison maybe comes up to Springtrap’s hip if he were standing and not floating, says nothing. It’s strange.

“You couldn’t hide behind him for forever.”

Marionette is eerily silent. The distance is closing in-between the two. Mike has the distinct feeling of what the humans in that scene in the third Jurassic Park movie must have felt, when the T. Rex and the Spinosaurus were advancing on each other. He was an impossibly small, fragile flesh being in the middle of a stand-off between these titans.

“How long has it been? Feels just like yesterday. Can’t be possible, time moves so fast…” And he sounded emptier and damaged than Mike could ever comprehend a human being to feel.

The puppet encroaches right in the animatronic’s bubble, making it lean back and take a step as if it wants as much space as possible between the two.

Mike noticed dimly Springtrap had long since gotten off his arm, freeing him. He’s in too much pain to run, though he managed to crawl toward the nearest wall. Collapsed against it, Mike watches, breathing in pain as Marionette finally gets Springtrap back against an old desk.

“W…well? What’s wrong? Got nothing to say, puppet?” The murderer sounds…desperate? Panicked maybe? But, no. That can’t be right.

“You’re still a coward.” Springtrap finally seethes at the silence, apparently insulted by it. “Still just a _fucking little cowar_ —“

Marionette lunges, strings stretching out and clawed fingers diving for the rabbit’s chest.

But this is apparently what the killer wants, because there’s a glint in its eye, hungry and wild.

“Marion— _wait_!” Mike calls, just as Springtrap dives to the side. The Marionette can’t change direction in time, and ends up smashing into a box that’s sitting on its side. Open. Waiting.

The lid falls closed from the force, and Springtrap howled with glee as Marionette vanished from view. Though the box shifts and its walls push outward, the puppet does not reappear.

“It worked!” The killer crowed, turning to push the box upright.

Mike wasn’t sure what happened. All he knew was his lifesaver seemed stuck in a box, and Mike was very much screwed. His heart leapt to his throat as he tried to scramble up.

_‘Funny. I always wondered what its weakness was.’_

“All that power, puppet.” Springtrap jeered, raising something above his head as he positioned himself above the box currently housing the trapped Marionette. It took Mike a second to notice it was a heavy piece of tech, a part from one of the arcade games in the hall. His back was to Mike, who had been deemed a minor threat the second after Springtrap had broken his arm.

“How does it feel to be _trapped_?” Springtrap hisses out, obviously enjoying watching the puppet struggle in vain. “Like what you did to me!?”

The security guard moves. And, god, it hurts, pain lances through his spine and all through his body. Vision swimming, Mike stumbles up, holding the wall for support with a grim stare in his eyes. He only has a few seconds left, but they’re all he needs. Launching at Springtrap, he doesn’t really knock him down or even move him that much. He doesn’t have to, but their collision is enough. The heavy equipment falls uselessly to the floor.

Springtrap roars in angry surprise, and the security guard stumbles and falls into the desk. He grabs at the box with his good arm, feeling Springtrap’s mitt of a hand curl around his throat. Three things happen, almost in synch.

One, Mike rips off the lid.

Two, Springtrap rips Mike up into the air by his throat.

Three, the Marionette launches out of the box.

Mike is dropped, let go in favor of the puppet that’s currently got his slender fingers right into the robot’s chest. It digs around, sickening noises heard as Springtrap thrashes and bellows.

With a sickening squelch, Marionette draws one of his arms back, hauling a withered hunk of muscle with a few slimy veins dripping off it.

Springtrap, the killer, stares in mute shock at the decayed, blackened lump Marionette is holding, turning an empty, vacant gaze up toward the looming puppet. Very calmly, Marionette speaks,

“Take. Life.”

The rabbit—no, the _man_ —wailed in agony as the form of the robot began to glow, something pearly white and chilly appearing. It was relentlessly sucked out of the bot’s body and spiraling in a single strand from the rabbit’s chest, to the rotted heart and then…downward.

Mike closed his eyes, trying to block out the man’s screaming howl as he was forcibly exorcised right before him.

It sounds painful.

Some part of Mike is happy about that. The rest is just queasy and faint.

When he next opens his eyes, it’s to watch the rabbit animatronic crumble down much like he had. Springtrap falls heavily back, and for the first time, Mike can hear the faint whir of a computer processor.

And the rabbit is watching him, yellow eyes half mast and gaze tired, hurt and relieved.

“ _Mr. Schmidt…”_ The voice is so small he almost doesn’t catch it. The speaker sounds clogged.

_“You are a very good Night Guard.”_

He doesn’t see Marionette, but he can’t find the strength to move his head. Springtrap—just Springtrap now—stares at him softly. Mike feels as if he should answer him.

“Uh, ah…t-thanks, I…”

He notices then, the rabbit’s gears are grinding. The body is twitching every so often, but the struggles are lessoning.

“You’re—you’re dying.” Mike realized softly. The rabbit merely stares down at him, still slumped against the wall.

The rabbit softly inclines its head.

“F-fuck. I’m sorry, Spring. I don’t know if we can…” Mike looks over the damage, wincing softly. “If we can fix you.” There was so much damage. Years of living with purple guy mentally and physically had deteriorated the poor robot beyond salvation.

 _“It’s okay. After so long, stuck with that murderer, I think it will feel…rather good. Like going into sleep mode after a very, very long day.”_ Springtrap’s real voice was a lot less deep than the killer’s, and certainly gentler. It was accompanied with a soft whisper of static.

Thought the robot had its eternal grin, its eyes are serious and soft. The AI who had fought so hard for control was back in the driver’s seat, it seemed.

Just in time for its body to give out. Mike’s gut twisted at the awful irony.

 _“It really is okay, Mr. Schmidt.”_ Spring sounds almost…happy? _“He’s gone. He’s gone and he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”_

 _“The Giver can take care of you now. I’m sorry for all the trouble we’ve caused, Night Guard. Please…please don’t let this happen again. It is your job, now.”_ The animatronic sounds so distressed and weary, Mike wonders if its better the rabbit was fading before his eyes. Remembering Bonnie and the promise he made, Mike feels those stupid tears fall, and he bites his lip hard to distract himself.

_“Remember to smile, Mr. Schmidt. You are the face of Freddy Fazbear’s pizzeria.”_

“Rule number five.” Mike murmurs, and wonders how the rabbit knows. He realizes quickly that thought is foolish, that it’s just a coincidence.

Mike can only lie on the ground in exhaustion and pain, letting it sweep over him. He watches, feeling numb, as Springtrap’s optics flicker, and then fade out.

“…Spring?”  
  
The animatronic did not move.

Mike sucked in all his air, then let it out through his nose. The body of Springtrap is covered by a familiar mask. Mike blinked owlishly at it, dazed and worn out.

“You were about to be killed.” The Marionette had a way of speaking point blank. His cool observation came across as a fact, and it made Mike shiver. The Puppet was right, he nearly had been killed. It probably would have been slow and painful too.

“You were about to die. Yet your only thoughts were only of _them_. Your coworkers.” Marionette had heard Mike call them that. Until now, it hadn’t used the term itself. It always felt like the Marionette held Mike and the animatronics at very different ends of his mind. Mike had too, once.

But they were a lot alike. They were a family. They needed each other.

“…he dismantled—killed them. He—Bonnie and Foxy…” A regretful sob. He refused to look at Freddy’s dismembered head.

“I couldn’t…couldn’t let him get away, Marion. I had to do _something_ , I’m…” Mike mumbled weakly, feeling the Puppet’s black slender fingers glide up his wrist and wrap around the bruised and broken skin. Mike hissed at the pressure, but had no energy to draw his arm back. Fuck it hurt, though.

“I’m the Night Guard.”

“You are a very strange human, Mr. Schmidt.” The Marionette was looking him up and down, black eyes staring at the multitude of injuries coating Mike’s limp form. “Very strange indeed; but I think I’m beginning to understand you. I think I have made the right choice in you.”

“What’yre you—“

A finger touched his lips, and then that feather light touch was applied to his forehead. The spindly fingers tapped his forehead idly, as if lost in thought.

“Sleep, Michael.” The Puppet’s voice was like the hiss from a snake, low but powerful. The wrist the puppet was holding suddenly felt very warm, and very numb. Mike was too sleepy to wonder why; he mumbled over his tongue and was shushed, almost affectionately, once more.

“You have done your job.”

It sounded like the Puppet was speaking down one end of a long tunnel. Mike’s eyes grew too heavy to keep open.

“Let me do mine.”

 _‘His…?’_ Mike managed one final, foggy thought. _‘What other job does the puppet have…? Springtrap called…him the…Giver._

_Giver of what?’_

Mike dreamed about nothing at all, and for that he was grateful.

* * *

 _“Give him a pipe to smoke all night,_  
_Smoke all night, smoke all night,_  
 _Give him a pipe to smoke all night,_  
 _My fair lady…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more chapter after this. Just because you win a battle does not mean you win the war, Schmidt. There is also, and more on this later, 2 more stories following this, a prequel and a sequel both. ;)


	7. Mike Hears the Theme

_London bridge is burning down,_  
_burning down, burning down,_  
 _London bridge is burning down_  
 _My fair lady…_  
**7\. Mike Hears the Theme**

Mike isn’t sure where it is he’s waking up, or why he’s waking up at all. By all accounts, he shouldn’t be. He died. It’s true, on some level. He knows it is, but on the other hand, here he is. No aches, no pains, a dull throb is all that’s in the back of his head. He knows, instinctively, what that means.

Marionette had fixed him.

Not in the literal sense, though perhaps the mended bones and healed flesh makes this statement more correct than he’s willing to amidt, but Mike knows he’s going to be feeling phantom pain for the next week. That’s the way it always went.

Regardless, he wakes. He sits up— _ow, ow, stiff_ —and he looks around, shocked to see the familiar faces of his friends. Faces he remembered seeing ripped off, or bent up.

“G…guys?” His back snaps when he moves, he can feel each vertebrae kick the other into line. Here he is, moderately and suspiciously alive, and here they are…

Looking just like they had before they’d set foot in those godforsaken place.

“It be alright, lad.” Says Foxy, his voice rough and low as if he too, is emotional about their rebirth.

 _‘No, not rebirth.’_ Mike glanced at the large gift box sitting innocent at his feet. The lid is on, firmly, and it is silent. Repair. The Marionette repaired them, the same thing it had done to Mike.

In exchange for ridding the world of the murderer? Who knew. Marionette rarely spoke and when it did, it wasn’t exactly monologing it’s schemes. On the one hand, Mike admired that. On the other, it got real fucking old, real fast.

“You’re okay, Mikey.” And they all sound and look as relieved as he feels, and his heart goes out to them. ‘ _Dorks_.’ He thinks, because these big AI’s are just hopeless and amazing and wonderful all at once.

Well, of course he was okay, that was whatever. It was _them_ he was worried about; worried he’d gone and fucked it up again. That the gang had almost paid for his mistake.

They all must have woken up before him, and all just come to find him. They had some rudimentary form of first aid in their protocols—mostly for kids—but they knew enough to not move his body in case he had a head injury. Crowded round him from head to toe, watching anxiously as he slept and waiting—begging?—for him to open his eyes. The touching action makes his eyes burn, and he laughs so he doesn’t sob.

Freddy, though, doesn’t buy it. Clever bear.

The leader of the animatronics bends down, hauls Mike up with one arm, and pulls the shorter, skinnier, all-around-breakable-human into a careful hug.

“Had us worried there, son.” It’s as affectionate as it is lightly reprimanding. Mike nods against Freddy’s shoulder, and smiles when he feels the others join in on the awkward crushing of parts around his fleshy body. Hey, they were getting real good at this group-hug thing. He was proud of them.

“Yeah, I uh….sorry. For, for scaring you.” Mike mumbles, rubbing the back of his head.

After a moment, the hug breaks. Foxy first, because he’s the ‘tough’ one. Or whatever he wanted his image to be. By proxy, Freddy and Mike are last, and the human stands in the circle of robots and just drinks in the fact they’re _still there_ , still towering over him like always.

And the murderer is gone. Mike can feel the weight has been lifted on all their shoulders.             

“Can we get out of here?” That’s Bonnie, his voice a soft, worried plea in the back of his metal throat. Mike spotted the corpse of Springtrap, the violet bunny was unable to take his optics off its unmoving form, and Mike felt a pang of sympathy.

“C’mon gang. Let’s go home.”

They follow the security guard up the stairs, taking one small detour to the security room to grab Mike’s jacket with his phone. He is careful not to look at the corpse of Jake, but he wishes desperately that could change. It seemed Marionette wasn’t giving its gifts to Outsiders.

Needing something to do as they walk down the dreary halls, Mike hauls out his phone.

“It’s only two or so in the afternoon. I guess we made it, huh?” He grins, but it’s tried. The robots give their own separate answers, except for Chica, who’s staring behind them as they come to a stop.

“Chica? You ok?” Bonnie calls.

“Hm? Oh. Yes—I just.” She shook her head and walked after them. “Guess I’m hearing things. This old place sure is creepy, even with that…guy…gone.” She says delicately.

“Yeah, it is.” Mike can only agree.

He leads them all to the side door, the one that will lead them out to where the van is still parked.

His first mistake is being lost in thought. (So much to do: Call the guard of Fazbear’s Fright, lock this place up fucking good, did he have time to get something to ear before he made it to I-90?)

And his second mistake was having the robots go before him. In his defense, he was the one with the keys.

As Freddy carried the Marionette’s box out into the gray afternoon, Mike had yet to cross the threshold himself.

Then it happened.

Under his palm, the knob jerked. Mike paused, and blinked. It shocked him lightly, jolting him from his concentration.

“Ow!” He leapt back with a hiss, eyes widening as the door swung sharply at him, forcing him to stumble back into the building or risk his nose getting broken.

The last bit of the outer world Mike saw was the animatronics turning with expression of shock and horror at something behind him. Foxy, the second closest, was reaching for him, but it was too late. The sliver of daylight was cut off as the door slammed on him. Darkness threatened to swallow him whole, and Mike felt his heart skip several needed beats. He quickly opened his mouth to shout for the others when he heard _it_ coming. No, felt was a better word.

Shit.

He turned, his blood running cold as the white misty figure storms through the hall at him. The building rumbles, shakes, and darkens violently as the released spirit of the murderer tumbles toward Mike.

 _THOUGHT I WAS GONE, DIDN’T YOU!_ The gleeful shriek quite nearly deafens him, to say nothing of the chilling sensation as the ghostly figure of pallid smoke slams into him. God, it’s like liquid nitrogen. The hold is forcing its way through his chest, through flesh, bone and organs. All the warmth in his torso abandons him as ice takes over.

Mike screams from the pain, trying to fight the fucker’s aura back out of him. But it’s crushing his chest, clutching around his heart as he’s lifted clear off the ground by the ethereal presence.

_Your stupid puppet only let me OUT, you didn’t think it the little brat was strong enough to get rid of me, did you?!_

“Th…that was the plan, yes…” Mike can’t help the smart-ass answer. For all it gets him, he’s slammed into the wall carelessly as the wraith considers the pounding he hears outside the door.

 _Your friends, how cute. They’re trying to rescue you. Too bad for them, I just found my new body._ The murderer sniggers softly and puts all its effort into pinning the helpless human against a wall, his sneaker dangling inches off the crappy tile.

 _How does it feel? To know you’re about to become the next serial killer at that pizzeria? It will be fun, don’t worry._ Gloating, the motherfucker was gloating at him.

Mike rasped uselessly as long fingers coiled round his throat again. Only this time, there’s nothing for him to scrabble at, no way to free himself from this invisible, deadly hold. He still tries, of course, trying to fight the impromptu possession that’s taking place. The ghost was trying to force itself into the Mike’s mouth and down his throat, at the same time also trying to wedge into his ribcage.

He knows if he lets it happen, he’ll never see the light of day again. But Freddy, and the others are outside, hammering futilely on the door. Marionette was with them, and he couldn’t fight a fucking poltergeist like this.

It’s been too long without oxygen, and Mike’s struggles are lessoning. If he falls unconscious, the murderer is going to win. If he dies even without being possessed, the ghost will still haunt the building. If Mike gets free and lets in the animatronics, the murderer might take over one of them, and Mike knows it will be much easier for the sneaky bastard to grab a robot than a human.

Talk about a rock and a hard place.

Just as he feels something giving way inside of him, Mike feels strange. Something in his ribcage pulses. It’s tiny. It’s faint.

But it’s warm.

_‘Uh-oh.’_

“G-great.” His last, barely conscious words are a feeble complaint. “Now y-you’ve…woke _him_ up…”

Mike wondered distantly if this is what Marion wanted all along. Well, minus the bodily harm coming to him—at least he _hoped_ that wasn’t included in the plan—but Mike doesn’t fight the sudden overwhelming energy that’s starting to coat his body. He doesn’t have the energy to, not really.

The pulse was getting wider, encompassing his frozen heart and trying to warm it.

 _‘Okay. It’s okay._ ’ He thinks, eyes slipping shut, smile fading as blood leaks from his nose. He was gonna lose it, he could feel it now. _‘No need to fear what you can’t avoid.’_

Mike’s fists loosened, and he hung limp for a moment. Then his eyes opened, and they were bright gold.

He turned a furious, unMike-like gaze down at the wraith and gnashed his teeth until the monster released him. Despite being freed, the form of the night guard did not drop, but merely floated limply in place. Licks of electricity, golden-white in color and blazing hot, flickered this way and that around the man’s eyes and head, though it wasn’t Mike in the driver’s seat anymore.

Mike lips parted mechanically, and stayed still as a deep voice boomed from the back of his throat.

“Whassamatter, ole ’buddy.” Golden Freddy shot contemptuously at the shying form of the murderer. “Ya lookin surprised to see me.”

 _You—what are you doing here!? You’re going to ruin EVERYTHING!_ With a shriek, the wraith pushed off Mike’s body and tumbled backwards, trying to get space between him and his advancing counterpart.

Golden laughs and it’s horrifying and deep. The rage is barely filtered through it, and already Mike’s body is starting to flicker in and out of reality. In its place is the faint outline of a golden, decayed and beat up suit. The old model of Freddy Fazbear hits the ground, and the ground shudders.

 _You shouldn’t exist!_ The ghost hisses suddenly, turning a livid gaze at the almost solid bear.

“Told you I’d be back.” Golden just reminds, mocking.

 _This isn’t fair!_ The spirit howls, white mass fluttering against the walls.

“What? It isn’t? Why, it’s the same as you, buddy.” Golden spits darkly, then grins dangerously. “The puppet picked a good suit for me. Little Mikey _let_ me take over, in fact.” Everything is in place now. Golden Freddy lumbers forward, calm and even now.

“On the guarantee I take care of _you_ , of course.” Golden growls, and that’s the only warning the murderer gets before the illusion lunges.

His punch comes right under the ghost in a jabbing upper cut—and it _connects_ and it sends the wraith FLYING, body flickering unstably.

Now it’s ghost fighting ghost, and the odds are in the favor of the one who just woke up, who hasn’t been exerting energy already.

Golden Freddy’s eyes gleam from the darkness of the old building, the hulking bear stomping forward. Mike’s body was completely gone, the illusion wrapped so tightly over the human body, it was like he wasn’t even there at all.

Sparks flit and fly all around, golden streams of electrical discharge lance through the air as the animatronic spirit volleys attack after attack. His power seems bottomless, when in fact it’s coming from the deep well of a place the murderer could never comprehend.

This kid he’s housed in, the security guard, he had a lot of spirit in him.

The spirit of Golden Freddy _not_ included, of course.

All of Mike’s desires, wishes and human-will funnel into the illusion and keep Golden Freddy on his feet and powered. Mike hadn’t been lying when he said humans were a persistent bunch. All of Mike’s mental will was going into making sure that bastard couldn’t hurt anyone ever again, and Golden intended to pick up the slack where Mike couldn’t. That was the deal.

The spirits are so focused on battling on another; they do not notice the poor ventilation combined with Freddy’s unstable essence has caused sparks of fire to leap to life. Smoke fills the ceiling. Tongues of fire climb the walls, devouring anything it can find.

Still, they do not notice.

It’s at that moment; there is a dim realization from the murderer. That perhaps, quite possibly, he is not going to win this one.

Maybe if he was still housed in Springtrap, if he still had a solid body to tie his soul to, like Golden had with the damn security guard, _maybe_ he would stand a chance.

 _“This isn’t fair—this isn’t fair_!” The spirit screeches angrily, the unholy noise echoing through the halls, rattling Mike’s bones. He isn’t aware of that though, his body only a vessel and his brain shut down for the time being.

Golden Freddy only staggered forward, grasping the fleeing remains of the murderer and clutching tight. Bolts of hot white electrically energy flit from his massive grip. The illusion is relentless in its offense, cutting the spirit off at every conceivable path, ripping bits and pieces of it away methodically and patiently.

Golden Freddy had waited a very, very long time to do this.

It’s worth doing it slowly to make the pain drag out.

Finally, when there is only a small piece of the spirit left, Golden Freddy is ready for the final blow.

 _“Let go of me—let go of me! You brat, you’re fucking dead for this—“_ A fighter to the end.

“Been dead. But I _earn_ my keep, you _traitor_.”

In one smooth motion, the animatronic bear’s jaws come chomping down onto the final slip of ghostly aura. The piece cracks in half, the spirit’s calls fade, and dwindle off into the wind.

The only noise that’s left is the creaking of Golden Freddy, and the crackling of the fire around it. Pausing to observe the fire inquisitively, (it had been a long time since he could remember seeing such a thing,) Golden quickly recalls it’s only borrowing this body, and immediately notices the feeble other side of their strange little connection trying to rise to the surface.

“Right, well. Thanks, Schmidt.” He says gruffly, not sure if the kid can hear him, but he means it. Eyeing the fire, Golden Freddy got as far from it as possible, ending up by the door.

“Your turn.” Is what he uses to call the human’s soul out.

Mike opens his eyes, sucking in lungfuls of air and immediately wished he hadn’t.

He chokes on the smog, thick and black and obscuring his vision. But not his hearing.

There’s the sound of wood giving way in loud splinters and cracks, and he turns blearily to see Freddy had broken the fucking door down, and he and Foxy are storming in. Their eyes are frightened little pinpricks, and he coughs out their names. It works, miraculously, and Mike finds himself grabbed and hauled safely out of the burning building. Behind him, the ceiling begins to cave, and he’s brought into the gray light and toward the shelter of the van.

“We need to—“ Coughing, “Need to—call the—“ Still coughing. Bonnie thumps him worriedly on the back. “Fire department! C…can’t just, just l-leave.”

There’s grumbles all around at that, but they allow it. The animatonics just form a tight circle as if they fear the spirit of the murderer is going to come out to get at Mike again.

He promises them, (as soon as he can string more than two words together,) that that isn’t going to happen.

He doesn’t say how.

Marionette once said the Golden Freddy coveted privacy, and Mike owed him big anyway.

Then he calls 911, giving the street address of dilapidated old building. The fire is dying as strangely and quickly as it had come, and there’s nothing around this creepy old place. He isn’t worried about the fire jumping, but he is worried about the fact an entire building just collapsed before him.

On Springtrap, too, he realizes numbly.

He takes shelter behind Freddy to avoid ashes and debris, and catches his breath a little more.

Sinking to sit on the big step of the van, Mike holds his face in his hands and just focuses on living. It’s always a struggle after _he’s_ been in control, and this time is no different. Though it’s only the second third it’s happened, the strange switch he and Golden do will never sit right with Mike.

Mike pulls the present box into his lap and sits there with it, taking comfort in its weight and familiarity.

Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy all loiter around him, each thinking their own thoughts. Mike doesn’t know about what. But he doesn’t have time to mend those wounds now, as much as he wants to. Hell, he can’t even fix himself, for that matter.

The clawing sensation pushes into the back of his mind. Mike is prepared for Marionette’s voice, but only in the way that comes from being simply too exhausted to give a shit.

 _‘You are the Night Guard. It is your job.’_ A pause. _‘And you do it well.’_

Mike sent a weary ‘thanks’ back. He wondered how well he could keep the bitter emotion to himself, and it turned out not so well. The Marionette answered his silence with a faint but firm:

 _‘That man was a mistake. A mistake Springtrap and the others paid for. With their very lives. If I feared the past, then I wouldn’t have chosen another night guard. But I did. The fact Golden Freddy is as strong is he is, is poof of your soul._ ’

Mike blinked, staring with unfocused eyes into the dying smoke of the fire.

_‘If you cannot trust yourself, Night Guard, then trust me.’_

Like that, the Marionette withdrew from Mike’s mind, and he was alone with his thoughts. Well, maybe not entirely alone, because he recalled the heavy honey-golden weight that had appeared just before he Switched. Was Golden Freddy listening, even now? Mike couldn’t be sure.

He thanks him anyway.

“Now what?” Bonnie asked quietly.

Mike, still looking at the skeletal remains of Fazebear’s Fright, said nothing for a moment. His expression was grim, determined. The fire that had sprouted and died in the horror attraction seemed to have taken up residence in the night guard’s eyes. All the animatronics notice, and they look mildly proud. Freddy most of all.

“We go home.” Mike says, turning. “We go home, and we remember to smile. It’s over, guys.

We made it.” It was only another bridge burnt, after all.

From here, they could only begin to heal.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, Mike double checks everyone is in their place before he pushed the key into the ignition.

Beside him a soft, twinkling tune plays lightly from the depth of the present box. Mike recognizes it immediately, smiles tiredly and hums along as he starts the engine. Every so often, he lets himself sing the lyrics.

_“London bridge is falling down…”_

The bus pushes onto the road, pointed toward the sunset, and the pizzeria. The smoking corpse of a misplaced horror attraction, an unlucky animatronic and the memory of a foul, disturbing killer are left behind in the dust and the gloom.

_“My fair lady…”_

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is a reference to Psych: The Musical. The very last song, where the story climaxes and subsequently ends, is called ‘Shawn Hears the Theme.’ It refers, of course, to the end of the chapter where Mike…well, hears the theme.
> 
> Also the song, London Bridge, was used for a theory that existed about it. The theory is that the song refers to the burying, perhaps alive, of children in the foundations of the bridge. This was based around the concept that a bridge would collapse unless the body of a human sacrifice were buried in its foundations and that the watchman is actually a human sacrifice, who will then watch over the bridge. 
> 
> There will be a prequel called Devil's Spine. Keep a lookout, because everybody's got an origin story.


End file.
